


The Second Chance

by Irony_Rocks



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hallmark Movie Inspired, Steggy Secret Santa, okay "the Family Man" movie inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28560687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irony_Rocks/pseuds/Irony_Rocks
Summary: Peggy Carter’s fast-paced lifestyle as a lawyer changes one Christmas Eve when she stumbles into a diner and disarms a gunman. The next morning, she wakes up lying next to Steve Rogers, her college sweetheart that she left when their long-distance relationship became too challenging. To her shocking discovery, her former life no longer exists. As she stumbles through this alternate universe where she is married to the one-that-got-away, where she is the Director of a non-profit organization called S.H.I.E.L.D, where her friends and family all know her as a dedicated mother to a six-year-old, Peggy finds herself at a crossroads where she must examine her life from a different perspective.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 90
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays lavellenchanted! I hope you enjoy your gift! Thank you for organizing this Secret Santa event @steggyfanevents. Based on the 2000 “The Family Man” movie. I know you wanted a “Hallmark” movie, but I thought this was close enough!  
>   
> Many thanks to a certain group of awesome Steggy shippers (you know who you are) that have nurtured and pontificated and brainstormed about this fic as much as I've written it! This fandom is _awesome._  
> 
> 
>   
> Feel free to follow me at my [FormerlyIR tumblr](https://formerlyir.tumblr.com) for more art.  
> 

Peggy Carter had barely survived Thanksgiving, so she was already dreading the prospect of Christmas.

It had been a long brutal year full of long brutal billable hours buried under piles of subpoenaed documents, trial notes, and depositions. But finally, she was on the precipice of becoming the youngest Associate Partner at _Phillips, Pierce, and Associates_ , one of the leading civil suit law firms in New York City. She had put in the hard work and dedication, and Peggy was so close to the corner office and the change in nameplate, she could _taste_ it. Her only competition was that wanker, Jack Thompson. That didn’t stop her secretary, Rose, from already picking out the new furniture from a catalogue. 

But first, Peggy had to survive the end of the year and the gauntlet of office politics, parties, and family obligations. 

The holidays were always such a strange time in her life. She had never secured a good work-life balance, but it was brought all the more to the forefront every winter when she visited family. This year, it was easier. Her mother had made the move to the US, so Peggy would no longer need to take a trans-Atlantic flight. But Deborah Carter remained a master at passive-aggressive meddling from any distance. And her late brother’s squadron of children kept growing up so fast; Sharon was starting college at Peggy’s Alma Mater, Columbia University, intending on a pre-law major. Things always seemed a little more hectic every time Peggy visited for the holidays. 

This year, Peggy was determined to come with good news of becoming partner. She was sure, of course, her mother would make some comment that it helped that one of the name partners of her firm, Chester Phillips, had been a family friend for decades. He’d known Peggy since she was in pigtails and had become her mentor when she was fresh out of law school. But now, a near decade later, she was finally at the point where people knew and feared Peggy Carter for her own legal acumen and reputation. She would make an excellent partner. She could swallow whatever backhanded compliment her mother would toss at her. It was par for the course, after all. 

All of that, Peggy decided, she would not worry about until after the New Years. It was Christmas Eve, and she had a full week of work left in the billing cycle, even if most everyone else had already gone for the holidays. So, she went about her day, prepping for another day-long deposition that would follow the next Tuesday. At half past seven, however, Peggy looked up from her computer and frowned. She was late for her dinner with Howard, and even if the man was notoriously late to everything, Peggy was stickler on punctuality. She gathered her purse and keys. Rose was off for the holidays, so Peggy left instructions to file her Motion to Quash with the board before the 4PM deadline the next business day. The office was empty and deserted as Peggy locked up and closed off all the lights.

Traffic was horrible, but to her surprise, Howard was waiting for her at the table when she arrived. 

“You’re late,” Howard said gleefully, rising to kiss her cheek in greeting.

Peggy leveled him with an unflattering glare. “Let it balance the spreadsheet a little on the number of times you’ve left me waiting.”

“Oh hush, Peg. You know I mean nothing by it. It’s just I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve been late to something.”

“Sorry, Howard. Had a rough start to the day. It always happens around the holidays.”

Howard nodded, as if he did anything close to spending the holidays with family. His version of Thanksgiving was hobnobbing with Senators or Hollywood elite on some expensive yacht. They didn’t make sense, Peggy and Howard. How she ever made such a close connection to such a womanizing, free-spirited, infuriating entrepreneur, it was one of the great mysterious in the universe. But she had known Howard for decades now, and he was one of her most trusted friends. 

Christmas Eve dinner passed relatively quickly as they caught up. Neither of them had any other pressing plans or obligations until the following day. Dinner like this was the only way they both could ensure keeping in touch, despite their very busy lives. Peggy found if she did not schedule it into her calendar, everything – including friendships – would fall by the wayside.

“So,” Howard said, eventually. “Funny thing happened to me yesterday. Ran into an old friend.”

“Oh, really,” Peggy said politely. “Who?”

There was a lengthy pause, and then Howard said, “Steve.”

For a moment, it did not register. There were plenty of Steves in the world, and the one that mattered, _her_ Steve, had been out of the picture for well near a decade now. Peggy didn’t immediately make the connection, but then Howard’s face held a rare look of compassion, as if understanding how delicate a topic he had raised. Peggy found herself comprehending _Steve_ like the name was a bucket of ice-water that had been dumped on her face.

“Oh,” she managed, tightly. 

Steve Rogers, her ex-fiancé. 

“I ran into him at the airport, actually,” Howard continued, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Looked good. Still has all the… you know, _muscles.”_

Peggy nodded, demurely. “How was he?”

“Good, I think. Just got back from another deployment. He gave me the impression he’d be leaving soon again, though. He asked about you.”

“And—and what did you say?”

“Oh, you know, the truth. Big hot shot lawyer about to make partner. High-rise apartment. Still looks like a million bucks.”

_“Howard,”_ she sighed.

“What? It’s true. You should be proud of that. Not many women get better looking with age.”

Peggy counted to ten to keep herself from responding with something biting. “And?”

“And what? We parted.” He paused, clearing his throat. “He left me his number. In case you want it.”

Peggy reeled back. “What? No, I—did he ask you to give me his number?”

Howard made a face. “No, but then again, Peg, it doesn’t take a genius. The guy was head-over-heels in love with you. It wouldn’t surprise me if a part of him still is.”

That caused Peggy to huff and frown. “It’s been eight years, Howard. He’s moved on. So have I. Dredging up the past—” especially one as painful as that, “—won’t do either one of us any good. I’m sure he’s happy.”

Howard nodded, but in a non-committal way. 

The rest of the dinner passed by in a blur. Howard kept the conversation running, but Peggy ate and listened in a half-preoccupied way. 

Steve Rogers had been, to put it plainly, the love of her life. They had met in her first year of undergrad at Columbia University. Peggy had been a Political Science major. Steve had been in the Visual and Performing Arts program. They had fallen for each other fast and hard, like a bullet to the chest. They’d kept together through the next seven years, all through her law school and while he enlisted and been deployed in the army. For years, they had made long distance work – writing each other letters, calling when the opportunity arose, sending care packages, relishing any time together like it was an oasis in the middle of a wasteland. 

He’d proposed, she’d said yes, and for a while it had been perfect. But then, she got a ridiculously lucrative job offer in England, and then he’d been deployed overseas again, and then – _Michael._ Her brother’s battle with cancer had been short, but cruel. When he’d passed one autumn morning, Peggy had been left shattered. Steve had tried to help, he really did. But he was still stationed overseas, and communication wasn’t the best. They kept getting separated for longer and longer periods, with promises of settling down one day a distant glimmer on the far horizon. 

In those long brutal days after Michael’s death, Peggy found herself lonely and wondering if this was how it would always be. If they were just two people on separate paths, always missing each other, never sitting still long enough to be together. To commit.

Life would not stop and slow down for either of them, and Peggy had never been the type of person to stop and slow down for anything. 

It just wasn’t meant to be.

It had been devastating, breaking it off with Steve. He was, and would probably always be, the one that got away. She hadn’t dated for years afterwards. And since then, her romantic entanglements had been laughable at best. First, her horrendous relationship with Fred Wells. Then, the botched attempt to date her co-worker, Daniel Sousa. Both relationships had ended horrifically, and taught Peggy that while she was so relentlessly pursuing her career, her focus could not afford to be split well with any sort of meaningful relationship. Trysts, dalliances, and maybe the occasional fling, yes – but not a relationship. Certainly nothing like what she’d had with Steve.

So, maybe it hadn’t been the distance after all. 

Maybe it had been Peggy all along.

When the bill arrived, Howard paid. Peggy was too distracted to argue about splitting it. He walked her out of the restaurant, where he stopped her with a hand on her elbow. Apparently, he’d noticed her absentmindedness. 

“You sure you don’t want his number?” he asked.

Peggy looked away. “It was a very long time ago, Howard.”

“That isn’t an answer to my question.”

Peggy sighed. “Aren’t you the one who once told me that old flames are like old tax returns? Put them in the file cabinet for three years, then cut them loose.”

“That’s me, Peg. A heartless son of a gun. You? Well—”

“I don’t want to hurt him again, Howard,” Peggy admitted, tightly. “It hadn’t been pretty, when I left him. I don’t want to bring up old wounds for him.”

To that, Howard only nodded in agreement; which told Peggy that whatever he’d seen of Steve the prior day, this assessment was still true even after nearly a decade after the break-up. 

They said their farewells, and Howard left. Peggy hailed a cab, but at the last second decided against it. She needed to walk. Despite the cold weather, she felt like she could use a good walk. A few blocks down the street, the first wisps of the nightly snowfall began dropping. A few landed on her cheek, and Peggy looked up, enraptured by the sight. She always loved snow. It made her think of home. Still, it was a little chillier than she had anticipated when she’d dressed for the night. An all-night diner at the next corner was still open, so Peggy slipped inside eagerly for warmth. She pulled off her gloves and hat, finding a charming 1940s retro-looking diner inside. There was a waitress in a pale green uniform behind the counter, her apron stained with some sort of red sauce. 

She smiled up at Peggy and beckoned her in. “Sit anywhere you like. Be with you in a moment.” Peggy slipped into the corner booth, and sighed. She could use a good cup of coffee, or maybe some hot chocolate. A moment later, the waitress found her. “What can I get for you?”

“A hot chocolate, please,” Peggy said, reading the waitress’ nametag. “Angel? What a pretty name.”

“Oh, I go by Angie, actually,” the girl answered, cheeks dimpling, a clear Brooklyn accent making its way known. “ _Angel_ seemed a bit too on the nose.”

“Pardon?” Peggy replied, in confusion.

Angie’s smile widened, and she shook her head. “Never mind. One hot chocolate coming right up, English! Oh, and I’ll throw in a slice of our pumpkin pie, too. I’m telling you, it’s pure heaven—”

#

Peggy awoke groggily, feeling like she’d been hit by a train. Her head was dazed, and the light was very, very bright. There was some sort of incessant alarm going off. She didn’t even recognize the sound of the alarm because she hated shrill noises first thing in the morning. As she reached blindly for the offending noise, an arm reached across her and finally silenced the racket.

And then Peggy was presented with a whole new problem.

Because there was an arm.

A decidedly male arm. A male arm that had, after silencing the alarm, dropped to wrap Peggy up in a tight, intimate embrace. Peggy opened one eye, then both – gaping. It was a nice arm, alarmingly. Well-muscled. She glanced around the room, finding herself in some unknown bedroom, warmly decorated. The curtains were closed, but she knew it was bright daylight outside.

Before any further thoughts could solidify, the arm moved, and a face came into view. A very familiar face.

Steve Rogers stared back at her, smiling groggily, a five-o’clock stubble shadowing his handsome face. “Morning. Merry Christmas, Peg.”

All thoughts screeched to a halt.

He rose up, scrubbing at his hair absently, and Peggy followed the lines of his body to note he was nude from the waist up. She didn’t know if he was wearing anything from the waist down, because she was caught briefly off-guard by the amount of abs on display. Dear lord, he had somehow not only maintained his ridiculous physique from a decade ago, but improved upon it over the years. The length and expanse of muscles was entirely distracting and, quite frankly, a little unreasonable. When he finally stretched his legs and rose up off the bed, Peggy was relieved to find he had on boxers.

Still, he moved about with remarkable casualness while Peggy lay there, frozen stiff in shock. 

What on Earth had she done last night? 

She briefly seized upon and simultaneously panicked about the most obvious horrendous possibility. That she had, somehow, reached out to her ex and rekindled something with him overnight. Peggy thought back furiously, but her mind was as agape as her open mouth, and she couldn’t remember a thing of relevance. She remembered dinner with Howard, and then stopping for hot chocolate at the diner. Then… nothing. 

And then, in the distance, there was a loud screeching noise. The door opened with a bang, and a small creature – a child, a little girl with messy blonde hair – jumped onto the bed and began bouncing on the mattress.

“Lizzie!” Steve admonished, sounding amused. “What did I tell you about doing that first thing in the morning?”

“Wait until Mommy’s had coffee?” the girl replied with a laugh.

Steve gave the girl a fond smile. “Exactly. Sweetheart, you gonna get up? You can use the shower first.”

It took a moment to realize that Steve was talking to Peggy. Then, all at once, she finally managed to remember how to use her limbs. She pulled back the blankets, both relieved and further bewildered by the pair of pajamas she had on – fleece, made for comfort and warmth, perfectly in her size. She skidded off the edge of the mattress, avoiding the child trampolining in the middle. She stood up in a frenzy, stared at Steve’s back as he pulled on his shirt, her face affixed in utter dismay. She did the only sane thing a person could do in that moment.

She fled the room. 

Bounding out into the hallway, Peggy discovered she was in some modest apartment. There was a purse and some keys near the front door, but none that belonged to Peggy. She didn’t see her phone anywhere. Dressed as she was, it wasn’t ideal to leave the apartment. Peggy had never quite done such a disgraceful Walk of Shame, but it was quickly becoming apparent she needed to do whatever was necessary.

Then she noticed she was wearing a gold band on her ring finger. Peggy stared at it, overwhelmed. When she frantically tried to pull it off, she found her finger had swollen around it. 

Before she could strategize a quick exit or consider her next steps, the front door opened and revealed another face from a bygone era.

“Hey, Peg,” Bucky said easily, letting himself into the apartment. “Didn’t catch you guys too early, did I? I wanted to leave the munchkin her gift before you guys open presents.”

Peggy stared at him, waiting for shock or any sort of surprise to bloom on his face. She hadn’t seen Bucky since the summer before she’d broken up with Steve. Unless, of course, she’d run into him last night as well. Peggy thought furiously, crossing her arms over her chest self-consciously, staring at him. She felt ridiculous in her PJs, but Bucky hardly seemed to be paying her any attention, setting his bag down at the kitchen table and opening the fridge like he did this all the time. And perhaps he did, in Steve’s apartment. One would think her addition would be of some note or comment. 

In the distance, she could hear Steve and… his child? Yes, it seemed he had a daughter. They were laughing about something. The girl had mentioned a mother too, someone Peggy dearly hoped she would not run into.

Finally, Bucky seemed to notice her anxiety. “Everything okay, Peg?” he asked, a jug of milk halfway to his lips. He raised an eyebrow at her. “You look… pale.”

She needed to get out of there. She would call and… _apologize_ , or whatever the appropriate response was, to Steve later on. First, she had to sort out exactly what happened, and in this environment, all she felt she could do was muster panic. Sheer blind panic.

“Could I borrow some cab money?” she said.

Bucky paused, then nodded. “Uh, yeah.”

Peggy had found a woman’s trench coat lying on the back of a kitchen chair. She would return the coat at a later date, of course, but right now it was an emergency. She slipped it on and turned back to Bucky expectedly.

He snapped out of his shock, and then reached for his wallet. “You okay, Peg? Should I get Steve?”

“No, no,” Peggy managed, thankful that Steve was too busy with his child. “I’ll, uh, call him later.”

She snatched the offered cash out of Bucky’s outstretched hands quickly, slipped on a pair of shoes at the front door – also unfamiliar, but strangely the right size. It briefly occurred to Peggy that she might be wearing Steve’s girlfriend’s – wife’s? – clothes. Mortification worked up her spine, and then Peggy was out the door. She was in Brooklyn, unsurprisingly. The only thing that made sense about today was that Steve was living in Brooklyn. She took a cab back to her place downtown and rushed up the steps to her apartment complex.

But her doorman stopped her. “Sorry, ma’am. Entrance is for residence and guests only.”

“What? What are you talking about? Hal, it’s me, Peggy Carter.”

“Sorry, ma’am, you’re not on the guest list.” 

“I beg your pardon. I’m not a guest. I’m a resident. You know me!”

“Ma'am, I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’ve lived in Penthouse C for the last six years!”

Hal’s facial expressions made it obvious what he thought of a woman donned in a trench coat and pajamas owning a Penthouse in any building in this neighborhood. It was not high odds. He stopped to help open the door for Peggy’s neighbor, Mr. Henderson. Tom Henderson was an elderly man who loved to flirt harmlessly with Peggy every time they saw each other in the elevator.

“Mr. Henderson,” Peggy politely stopped the senior gentlemen. “Could I trouble you for a moment? I think Hal here is a bit confused. He doesn’t recognize me.”

“Who is this woman?” Mr. Henderson asked Hal.

“Oh, please,” Peggy said, turning beyond exasperated. “What is going on this morning? Is this some sort of hoax? Did Howard put you up to this? Because I know he owns this building. If this is some sort of joke—”

“Ma’am,” Hal said. “I don’t want to call the police on you, but if you harass the residents—”

“Harass?” Peggy said, outraged.

“There’s no need for that, Hal,” Mr. Henderson said, kindly, finally talking some sense. But then he continued, “I’m sure we can help the poor woman out. Look at how she’s dressed. We can find some… some shelter, maybe? Can you call anyone, Hal?”

Peggy had enough. Before she could very well explode and pursue violence as a means of handling the situation further, however, she took a deep breath and let it out. “I would like to use your phone, please,” she said, as calm as she could manage. “I would like to speak to Howard Stark.”

The doorman laughed. “Right. You know Howard Stark.”

“I do,” she promised. “And once I get him on the phone, everything will be sorted out. I assure you.”

The doorman looked at her, suspiciously, but then nodded. “Sure, lady. You get Mr. Stark on the phone and get him to vouch for you – and I’ll call you the Queen of England.”

When he handed Peggy the phone, she didn’t waste time. She dialed Howard’s number, getting him to answer on the third ring.

“Howard, thank god. I need your help.”

“Peggy?” came back the voice, groggy. “What’s going on?”

“These people at my building complex aren’t letting me in. They think I’m some charlatan. You own the building. Tell them to let me in.”

“Peg?” he said, confused. “I don’t own anything in Brooklyn, you know that. I’m a strictly Manhattan kinda guy.”

“Yes, that’s where I’m at, Howard. Honestly, have you forgotten where I live? This is your Westminster luxury apartment complex.”

Howard harrumphed on the other end, laughing. “Yes, and since when have you been living there? Steve’s salary doesn’t even cover a quarter of the rent, and your—”

“What does Steve have to do with this?” Peggy demanded.

There was a long pause. “Did you and he have a fight, or something? Oh, god, Peg. You know I hate being dragged into the middle of any marital fights you two have.”

Peggy paled. “Dragged into _what,_ Howard?”

Howard sighed. “Look, just – I can come get you. Let’s all cool off. Steve can sleep on the couch for a few nights. I’m sure whatever it is, it’ll blow over.”

Peggy struggled to formulate a response, so utterly confused and bewildered and, honestly, a little scared. “Howard Stark,” she finally managed, putting as much starch into her words as possible, “You tell me right now that you are not pulling some sort of illustriously unsound and problematic trick right now. I am not in the mood. Tell me the truth. Do you really believe I don’t live in the penthouse suite of your Manhattan building?”

Howard laughed. Actually laughed, full-bellied. “The penthouse?” he sputtered. “Oh, come on now. You’re just having me on. No way you two could afford that, even with the friends and family discount!”

The doorman could hear Howard’s laughter, and smiled in victory.

Peggy glared back. “This isn’t funny, Howard. I’m being serious. You swear on our friendship, Howard. Swear this isn’t some joke or trick.”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking—”

“Swear, Howard! On our friendship!”

“Okay, okay, jeeze! I swear on everything holy and our friendship, which you know I find _sacred_ – I am not pulling a fast one on you. I honestly don’t know what you’re going on about!”

There was a long beat of silence. Peggy frowned. Howard was a cad, a jokester, and most times a complete and utter fool. But he wouldn’t lie to Peggy, not when she put their friendship on the line.

“Peg,” he said, sounding concerned, “are you feeling all right? Should I call Steve?”

That was the last straw. 

“What does _Steve_ have to do with any of this?” she roared back and hung up.

She tossed the doorman’s phone back at him, angrily. She might have done more, too, but then there was a very loud whistle. Peggy turned around to find the waitress from last night – Angie – standing directly behind her. Of course, she was no longer dressed as a waitress. Sporting a very fetching white dress and off-white coat, she looked more suited to the prosperous neighborhood than Peggy did at the moment. 

“It’s all right, fellas,” Angie said, taking Peggy by the arm. “I know this woman. Peggy just wondered off and got a bit confused.”

“Confused?” Peggy sputtered, indignant. “I am _not_ confused.”

“You sure about that, English?”

Peggy opened her mouth, thought about it, and then closed it. 

“That’s what I thought,” Angie said. “C’mon, I’ll get you another cup of hot chocolate.”

#

“You realize you look like a mad woman, right?” Angie said, when they settled at the nearby coffee shop that was, miraculously, open on Christmas morning. The barista failed to recognize Peggy; the same barista who had made Peggy’s order for the last few years without once messing it up. “The pajamas and the messy hair? I don’t mean to sound rude, but this ain’t the prim and put-together Peggy Carter I’ve heard so much about.”

“Yes, well, all of that would be solved quite readily if I could be let back up into my apartment.”

“Yeah, about that. You’ll find a lot of things are different all of sudden.”

Peggy frowned. She had no idea who this woman was, other than a familiar face from the other night. The last face Peggy remembered, in fact, from the other night.

“What is going on?” Peggy demanded.

“Do you need a bag to breathe into? Some people throw up right about now.”

“Just tell me what is going on! I feel like everyone has lost their minds!”

“Not a single soul in your life is mad,” Angie said. “But it’s going to sound crazy anyway. Have you ever heard of second chances? 

“What?”

“Second chances? Do-overs? Life going down a different path, something that would have happened but for the Grace of God. You did something last night, Peggy. I know you don’t remember it, but there was a robbery last night at the diner.”

Peggy felt like they were speaking two different languages. “And now, what? I seem to be on some sort of hallucinogenic pharmaceutical cocktail.”

“No, Peg, this is far from drugs, or any sort of punishment. The way you intervened in that diner last night, you did a good thing there, English. You saved lives. Really impressive. Even impressed the upper echelons of the organization.”

_What organization?_

Peggy opened her mouth, but suddenly she got a flash of a strange memory. _“Everybody, hands up! This is a robbery!”_ The diner, and a man in a hood. He’d had a gun. Peggy could recall the tattoo on his forearm, and the look of fear in his eyes as Peggy had stared down the barrel of the gun. She remembered disarming him. She remembered he’d been more scared than Peggy had.

It was just a flash, but Peggy felt a strange swell of certainty, an overwhelming sense. Angie was telling the truth, somehow.

“Just tell me what is happening, Angie,” Peggy breathed, for once very subdued. A strange grip of fear and understanding was starting to creep up Peggy’s spine.

“This is a glimpse, Peggy,” Angie said. “Of the life you could have had, with Steve. If you’d made different choices.”

Peggy’s mouth hung open for a beat, and then she shook her head feebly in denial. She bolted up from her chair. “That is ridiculous. I’m not... no. I'll put myself up for the night somewhere. Then I’ll sort out all this insanity—”

“Oh, it’s insane, all right. But that doesn’t make it any less true.” Angie sighed, frowning at Peggy’s towering frame. “Sit down, English. You want to hear what I have to say, trust me.”

“Is it more nonsense about being with Steve?”

Angie sighed, then snapped her fingers. “Look under your trench coat.”

“What?”

“Look under your trench coat.”

Peggy stared for a beat, then lifted the collar to peer underneath. Instead of the horrendous flannel pajamas, she was wearing a nice chiffon dress shirt in her favorite rosy color, with slim-fitting slacks. 

“How did you—” Peggy began.

Angie also revealed a small tasteful purse. “Here’s your belongings, too. Keys, wallet, phone. Things people need in this life. You should keep an eye on those things. I can pull a rabbit out of a hat, too, but that’s just a parlor trick.”

Peggy had seen this purse back at Steve’s place. Frowning, out of curiosity, she pulled open the purse and emerged with an unrecognizable wallet. Inside, however, she found a familiar Driver’s License picture of herself, but the address was wrong. It stated the Brooklyn apartment that Peggy had just fled. There were also photos inside the wallet. Of Steve, and the little girl. In one, Peggy was holding a newborn baby in her hands, and Steve was smiling proudly in the background.

Peggy dropped the wallet as if it burned her. “This isn’t mine—” 

“Yes, it is. Just like that ring on your finger is yours, and just like that blonde-haired little girl has your DNA. Welcome to your new life, Peggy. You’re married, with a kid. Congratulations.”

“How?” she managed. “Why?”

“You’re gonna have to figure that out for yourself. But the people upstairs like you.”

The people upstairs? Peggy had never believed in the otherworldly. She always had her feet firmly on the ground. And, yet, she could feel the certainty like a sixth sense. Angie wasn’t some mad woman. Peggy’s doorman and her neighbor weren’t pulling any sort of trick. Bucky had looked at Peggy like he’d been expecting her at Steve’s place, like she belonged there.

None of this made sense, but there was a strange fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach. Peggy had always trusted her guts. They had very rarely led her wrong. Right now, there were in knots because everything in her body were screaming at Peggy – screaming at her that this insane story of Angie’s was absolutely and fundamentally _true_. Without any reservation. Peggy couldn’t explain it any more than Angie had. 

That little girl jumping on the bed had Peggy’s brown eyes, too.

And Steve?

Steve would never do anything to deceive or trick her. Not like this. He would never, not in a million years, do anything that could harm her intentionally in this twisted way. 

“How much time?” Peggy asked, dimly.

“As much time as it takes,” Angie answered, “which, given how stubborn you are, may be a lot of time.”

“What?” Peggy felt like her frown and confusion had become a permanent fixture on her face. “What does that mean?”

“I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you much of anything. You have to figure it out on your own. That’s the point.” Angie looked at her watch, sighing. “I’m sorry, English. I like you. I really do, but I can’t spend any more time with you. I can drop you off at your apartment – I mean, the apartment you share with Steve—”

“No,” Peggy sputtered, incredulous. “Absolutely not.”

Angie sighed. “The world around you has changed. You can go to your old job, but security will probably escort you out. You can go about doing a dozen different things right now that will land you in jail or the looney bin. Or, you can live up to your fierce reputation and get your act together.”

Angie rose to her feet, collecting trash from the table and throwing it away. Before they left the café, Angie handed over a bicycle bell. And because Peggy’s day was going that insane, Peggy took it without question.

“You’ll find you can ring me on that, like a pager,” Angie explained, “and I’ll try to come. But you can only ring me once. Aside from that, you’re on your own, so make sure when you call me, it’s important.”

“So,” Peggy said, standing up too. “That’s it? You’re leaving me like this?”

“You’ll figure it out,” Angie said, smiling. “I have faith.”

#

She spent the day trying to prove Angie’s theory wrong.

It did not go well.

Peggy visited her office first, but as Angie had predicted, she was turned away at the lobby floor by the security guards. All of whom Peggy had known for years now, and none of them recognized her in the least. Her name had been taken off the blackboard in the lobby, a running list of employees for _Phillips, Pierce, and Associates._ She had been the sixth name down on the list and now her name was nowhere to be found. Peggy walked away with as much dignity as she could manage, feeling like her legs were about to cave in under her.

The internet made it even more surreal. A quick google search revealed that her name was now Peggy Carter-Rogers. Public records indicated she had been married to Steve for seven years, their anniversary coming up in the fall. Their girl was named Elizabeth Sarah Rogers, born six years ago. 

Peggy found her Facebook profile and logged in after several false starts. Her page was filled with an endless stream of photos of Steve and the little girl, going back as far as Peggy could scroll. Wedding pictures, birthdays, vacations to Disneyland, a check in at a romantic inn in Nantucket where they had celebrated their last anniversary; Peggy had taken a picture of Steve in bed, completely bed-rumpled and half-asleep, smiling in quiet joy. 

She turned off her phone after a while, because it kept blowing up with missed calls from Steve. She imagined, if all of this was true, that he was going insane with worry. She had run out of the apartment without a single item of necessity, on Christmas morning. It was only by an act of – Angie, whatever she was, that Peggy had any money, any phone, or any clue what was going on.

It was all too crazy.

She went to the hospital in the evening. It was best to check every option on the table, so she’d walked into a packed Emergency Room and waited her turn in line. When she told the physician on staff to check for both concussions and drugs, he had looked at her funny. Still, they ran a gambit of tests. 

Several hours later, Peggy annoyingly had a clean bill of health.

“Is there anyone we can call to pick you up?” the nurse at the front station asked, when Peggy was discharged. “I see a Steve Rogers listed in the system as your emergency contact—”

“No, thank you,” Peggy said. “I can manage.”

But by nightfall, Peggy knew there was nothing else to do. She needed to face… reality. Face Steve, as it was. The longer this went on, the larger the fallout. She had no idea what to say to him. For her, it had been eight years since she’d last seen him. He’d been the single most important person in her life once upon a time, but now he was a stranger. And he thought of her as his wife. How was she supposed to navigate that?

And a child? A child that called her _Mommy_.

#

Peggy’s key fit perfectly into the door to the apartment, and she turned it cautiously and opened the door. Inside, it was the same apartment she had earlier fled, but somehow her apprehension had grown three-fold. Now, she realized what she was dealing with, and although Peggy always felt like any situation was better armed with knowledge, someone had failed to tell her nerves that. She felt like an intruder as she entered the apartment.

The place was done up in delicate Christmas decorations. There were kid drawings on the fridge, and three separate stockings over the fireplace, one of which held Peggy’s name.

She was halfway through the apartment when she heard footsteps. It was Steve, on the phone, looking harried and upset. As soon as he saw her, though, his sharp jawline collapsed in relief. He hung up the phone without even bothering to say anything to the individual on the other end and crossed the room in three giant strides to engulf her in a hug.

“ _Jesus_ , Peg,” he breathed, obviously relieved. Peggy stood awkwardly stiff in his arms. “Where have you been?” he asked.

Peggy pulled back, clearing her throat. She’d thought about this, a lot. She had an alibi all prepped to go. “Sorry. I, uh, hit my head earlier. Got a bit befuddled. Had to go to the hospital.”

She presented her wrist, where she still had on her plastic hospital ID wristband. She was hoping that the pretext of a head injury would cover for any lapses in memory or judgement that Peggy was going to exhibit in the upcoming days. Of which, Peggy was positive, there would be plenty.

Steve’s frown intensified with his concern. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, mostly,” Peggy assured. “I just might be a little… disoriented the next few days.”

He stared at her wristband. “Manhattan? What were you doing in Manhattan?”

Peggy cleared her throat. “Like I said, I was befuddled.”

He pulled her back into a fierce hug, as if the thought of her wandering around clueless was absolutely terrifying. Steve’s hugs had always been singular in nature, fully comforting and deep in ways few others could dole out. He was so big and strong, and today he was wearing a well-worn cable-knit sweater that made his embrace particularly warm. Despite the awkwardness, Peggy wasn’t opposed to a hug after the day she’d had. 

“Mommy!” a girl’s voice pierced through the air. “There you are! Did you get me a present?”

Peggy opened her mouth. “What—”

“I told Lizzie you went shopping for more Christmas presents,” Steve whispered, sheepishly.

Oh. 

The little girl was peddling circles on a small red tricycle. It had a big bow on it, so Peggy could only assume it was one of her presents. Lizzie pulled up to Peggy, and then stuffed her hand down Peggy’s pocket as if she always had a habit of doing that. She pulled out Angie’s bicycle bell, giving it a few experimental rings. 

“Oh, I like it, Mommy! Thank you!”

She rode off towards the hallway.

“She took my bell,” Peggy found herself whispering, a little frantic. “I need that back.”

This was ignored by both father and daughter. 

The rest of the evening was a daze. Peggy kept quiet, and Steve seemed to take this to mean she still wasn’t feeling well. Thankfully, he left her alone and kept his daughter – _their_ daughter – preoccupied. She watched them, feeling the strangest sense of _déjà vu_ and surreal anxiety. Steve, unsurprisingly, was a wonderful father, at turns doting and disciplinarian when needed. He had a surprisingly gentle touch when he started braided Lizzie’s hair into twin braids. And Lizzie, Peggy quickly learned, was precocious and talkative, always observing, always commenting on something or another.

Just before seven, Steve announced that Bucky was coming for dinner, along with a “Nat and Sam.” Peggy had no idea who “Nat and Sam” were, but felt it indelicate to ask. Instead, she retreated into the bathroom and took a long shower that used up all the hot water. 

She emerged into her closet, which was in a lacking state. Perhaps Peggy was spoiled by her penthouse walk-in closet full of designer clothing and top-ticket items. It wasn’t that this _other Peggy_ (as she had taken to calling the one married to Steve) had bad tastes. Just… modest tastes. Simple. She picked through a line of dresses, all tasteful but well-worn. She didn’t think there was a new dress in the entire closet. 

The underwear drawer, on the other hand, had a few items with the tags still on it. Particularly risqué numbers. Peggy shoved the drawer closed and quickly turned around.

Which was when she found herself confronted by the little girl. Lizzie stood, staring. Peggy tugged uncomfortably at her towel, pressing it closer to her body. She had no idea how to handle children, much less one that expected her to be her mother. Peggy rather thought she had not a single motherly instinct in her body. She was a great aunt. She loved being an aunt. But at the end of the day, she sent those little buggers back home loaded up with sugar.

The girl stared, unusually preceptive, as if picking up on Peggy’s discomfort. Then the girl gasped, made a face as if greatly shocked by something, and bolted out of the closet.

Peggy wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

Eventually, she decided getting dressed was the least damaging thing she could do. She finally picked a stylishly well-cut white blouse, the top two buttons undone, and a dark skirt that came up to her knees and hugged her hips nicely. Her hair was styled equally simple, with just a subtle wave in her hair. She put on the usual amount of make-up, highlighting her eyes and capping off her lips in a bold red. She thought, overall, it was an understated look, appropriate for Christmas dinner with company. But when she emerged from the bedroom, Steve looked struck surprised by the outfit. Not unappreciatively, she noted. 

“You look nice,” he said, with a stunningly disarming smile.

Peggy found she had a lump in her throat. He was dressed far more casually than her, in a soft blue button-up shirt, sleeves rolled and cuffed carefully at the elbows, and a pair of dark slacks that showed off his assets quite nicely. It had never taken much to make Steve Rogers look good, and that remained true even a decade later. Bloody hell.

Dinner was late, as Steve first had to put Lizzie to bed. Peggy was silently thankful. Of all the complications, having a child was by far the most daunting. At least with Steve, she had some frame of reference on how to act. They’d been together for years. But a daughter presented a whole host of unexpected complications.

When Bucky and “Nat” arrived, Peggy was only a little surprised to find it was a woman. It was obvious Nat was someone they all knew well, because no one stood on any ceremony. Nat – or Natasha, as Peggy learned – opened the fridge door and helped herself to whatever was inside. It took several minutes before “Sam” arrived, a well-humored pilot friend. It was several more minutes into dinner for Peggy to realize Nat wasn’t necessarily a dinner date of Bucky’s. They were friends, all of them. Close, obviously. 

Peggy was, once again, mostly quiet with strained smiles. There was apparently a line of beer in the fridge, which made Peggy frown, but she found a bottle of Jack Daniels in the pantry. Peggy pulled it out and eagerly poured herself a glass.

“Are you sure you can drink?” Steve said, frowning, when she brought it back to the table. “You just hit your head pretty hard.”

“Yes, yes,” Peggy replied. “The doctors assured me I’m fine. Just a little disorientation, but nothing else to worry about.”

Steve didn’t look convinced, but she could also tell he was biting his tongue. For the benefit of their company, or because he didn’t want to pick a fight with his “wife,” Peggy couldn’t give a reason why, but he kept his mouth shut. She continued to nurse her glass, and then poured herself a liberal second and third glass.

The conversation, for the most part, ebbed and flowed around Peggy.

“…and Mrs. Landing made this sweater for me,” Steve was saying, laughing quietly. “And it was nice thought, really. But it was about two sizes too small for me—”

“Shocking,” Natasha cut in, deadpan. “I can’t imagine what that looks like on you.”

“Hey, man,” Sam said, smirking. “Let him show off the definition of those muscles. I mean, look at ‘em. It’d be a crime to hide those!” 

“He does it for Peg’s benefit,” Bucky overrode. 

Natasha lifted a glass to her. “And people everywhere thank her for it.”

Steve flushed a little in his face, but he took the joke on the chin. “Anyway,” he said pointedly, “I felt like a heel when I put it on, and the sweater tore at the seams in two different places. She spent hours making that thing.”

Everyone laughed, even Peggy. But she could see behind it all, Steve was genuinely guilty about the situation. He was always like that, wasn’t he? So earnest. Peggy took another long drink, wishing the thought didn’t make Steve more attractive.

“So, Monday’s the big day,” Sam said to Steve, smiling. “You ready for it, man?”

“Ready for what?” Peggy asked, tongue loosened by alcohol.

Everyone turned to stare at her, surprised. “The big announcement,” Sam explained, wearily. “Where Steve has to go on TV to promote S.H.I.E.L.D.’s annual fundraiser?”

Peggy flushed. “Oh… of course.”

She had no idea what Shield was, or anything he was talking about. It was obvious everyone had picked up on Peggy’s strange behavior, but no one was commenting on it. She wondered if Steve had silently pulled each of them aside and said something to them. Peggy decided not to contribute anything to the rest of the conversation, only observing. From it, she learned Steve was the figurehead of some NGO named S.H.I.E.L.D., although what it stood for, Peggy hadn’t a clue.

Dinner ended late, with Steve ushering the others out with a little less discretion than he thought he was displaying. When they were gone, he turned back to Peggy, and she knew there was a conversation brewing. They were saved, however, by the arrival of bed-rumpled Lizzie who had awoken from her sleep. She rubbed blearily at her eyes and gestured for Steve to pick her up.

“What are you doing up, pumpkin?”

“Had a bad dream,” she mumbled. “Can you tell me another bedtime story?”

Steve sighed, looking to Peggy, and she could see his internal struggle. Ultimately, he gamely walked the girl back into her room, already starting a bedtime story he must have told a million times.

Peggy took the time to get ready for bed. Which, as she recalled from the morning, was a landmine of issues. She had, perhaps, a bit too much to drink, because the idea of sharing a bed with Steve, a man she had not shared a bed with in nearly a decade, was far too appealing for anyone’s good. This entire scenario was ridiculous. But, dear lord, her “husband” was a handsome man, which said nothing about the hundred and one other reasons she found him attractive.

Her options for nightwear ran from comfortable flannels to sexy lingerie. Peggy wasn’t drunk enough for the latter. She wasn’t sober enough for the former, however. She settled for a simple gray satin set of pajamas, a matching top and bottom. She slid into bed and waited for Steve to finish putting Lizzie to bed.

She wasn’t sure what she would say to him.

To be honest, she was curious how they’d gotten back together. In point of fact, in this world, they might never have broken up. He worked now for an NGO, which implied he was no longer in the military. That was surprising. Steve’s service was a solid bedrock for him.

She pulled out her phone, and did a quick google search on S.H.I.E.L.D. It was a rather large organization dedicated to supporting families with sick children in their time of need. The acronym stood for _Shelter Homes including Expenses, Love and Dedication_ , which Peggy found to be a mouthful. But who was she to judge? The New York chapter had an upcoming fundraiser on New Year’s Eve to raise money, all to make sure parents could stay close to their hospitalized child without incurring medical, hotel, and food costs. 

It made so much sense. Steve, as a child, had been such a sick little thing. His mother had endured a lot of struggle and hardships trying to pay medical bills on top of everything else. Sarah had died nearly seven years back of a heart attack, almost a year after Peggy had broken things off with Steve. The woman was a force of nature, but kind and sweet just like Steve. The world had been a gloomier place for having lost her. Peggy had thought about flying in for the funeral, but she’d been wrapping up a case across the ocean and hadn’t been able to make it back to New York in time. She’d sent flowers and a heartfelt letter. She’d tried calling too, but Steve hadn’t picked up. She could hardly blame him for dodging her calls. The sting of their breakup had probably been too fresh.

Now, she had no idea how any of it had gone down here. But Peggy found herself getting a little misty-eyed at the thought of Steve joining an organization that was clearly so close to his heart. Of course, the tears might have been the alcohol too, or her high-strung emotions for the day finally making themselves known. 

Then she clicked further on the details of the organization, and found that not only did Steve work there, but Peggy did too – as the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Stunned, Peggy could only stare at the page in blank surprise. She worked for a non-profit. She _ran_ a non-profit, of which she knew absolutely nothing about. That would certainly present problems.

But it explained why they were living in a modest two-bedroom flat in Brooklyn. Her job at _Phillips, Pierce, and Associates_ could have afforded this place at a fraction of the salary. She had no problem with the idea of working for a non-profit. But still, Peggy had always prided herself at being a shark. She could cut through her opponents like prime meat, and there was a certain amount of pride in her ambition; the non-profit sector really didn’t cater to those whims.

Still, there was idealism in a non-profit that appealed to her, especially to the woman who had finished law school all those years ago.

She continued her google searches, but it must not have been too interesting after that, because it put Peggy dead to sleep. She wasn’t sure when it happened, but Peggy drifted off to slumber, only briefly awoken when Steve moved into bed beside her. He curled himself around her, pressing a tender kiss to her bare shoulder before burying his face in her hair with a barely audible sigh. He wrapped his arms around her. She drifted on the edges of awareness, the comfort of his strength at her back and his warm breath on the nape of her neck. It felt natural, and clearly for him it was, like something he did every night.

She fell asleep again almost instantly, warm and nestled in his arms.

#

She awoke to an empty bed, but she wasn’t alone. 

Lizzie was staring at her, unblinking. 

It was a startling sight and Peggy bolted upright. “Bloody hell!” 

“You said a bad word,” Lizzie said.

Peggy barely restrained herself from saying more bad words, far worse than the first. “Right, yes… uh, where is your father?”

“He’s in the kitchen making breakfast. He told me to wake you up.”

“Right,” Peggy managed, awkwardly. “I’m awoken. You can… run along now.”

Lizzie stared at her, though, again with that scrutinizing look far too astute to be on the face of a child. Lizzie crept closer, climbing onto the bed. She pressed her tiny hands against Peggy’s face, examining it closely, very intently. She pinched Peggy’s nose, directed her to look up, and examined every inch of Peggy’s face. Whatever she saw made her frown.

“You’re not really my mom, are you?” she said, after a long beat.

Peggy stared, unsure of what to say.

“I—uh,” Peggy began, tongue-tied. 

She had no right to burden the child with such truth, but she couldn’t think up anything to say either. Lizzie sighed a very put-upon sigh. Which, given everything, Peggy thought was rather earned. 

“I can tell,” Lizzie said, sounding far too severe for a six-year-old. “You’re different.”

“Oh, Lizzie,” Peggy found herself saying. “It isn’t like you think.”

“You’re not my mom,” Lizzie said again.

Peggy couldn’t bring herself to say a thing to this little girl. 

But by not saying anything, perhaps Peggy had admitted too much, because Lizzie seemed to find confirmation with the silence. Lizzie settled back, frowning. She seemed to be handling this news better than Peggy had managed, in any case. Peggy never had much experience with kids, aside from brief visits with her nieces and nephews. She much preferred them as adults or adolescents, rather than children. She imagined this was strange behavior even for a child. 

“It’s okay,” the girl said. “They did a pretty good job.”

“Who did?” Peggy asked.

“The aliens,” she said, with childlike innocence. “From the mothership.” 

Peggy stared. 

She supposed that made as much sense as what had actually happened.

“Promise you won’t kidnap me and take me to your spaceship?” she asked.

As promises went, that one was fairly easy to make. “I promise.”

“Do you like kids?” Lizzie asked, already regrouping.

“Ah, yes, I suppose I do. On a case-by-case basis. I find myself quite expectedly enchanted by you, for instance.” 

A small smile played on Lizzie’s lips. “Do you know how to make hot chocolate?”

“I make a delightful cup, actually.”

“Promise you won’t hurt my dad,” she said, finally.

Peggy inhaled a sharp breath and held it for a long beat. That promise may have been a harder one to keep, given the situation, but she felt she owed it to the little girl. 

“I promise,” Peggy managed, ultimately.

Lizzie gave a very trusting smile. “Okay. Welcome to the Roger’s household. I can show you around.”

#

The first thing they did was go out into the living room, where Peggy was confronted with a ghost. Sarah Rogers, Steve’s mother, was sitting on the barstool near the counter, nursing a cup of coffee. For a blatant moment, Peggy just stared. It was one thing after another lately, but suddenly confronted with a woman that had _died_ seven years ago was a little much, even under the circumstances.

“This is Gram-Gram,” Lizzie whispered, helpfully, tugging at Peggy’s sleeve. “She’s Daddy’s mommy.”

“Peggy,” Sarah said fondly. “I heard you weren’t feeling well?”

Peggy snapped her mouth shut. “Yes, just a little bit of… disorientation.” She wondered how many times she could say that in the next few days before the word lost entirely all meaning. “How are you doing?” Peggy said, and silently congratulated herself on remembering even basic manners. “You look good.” 

Sarah did, and not even for just a dead woman. Sarah had always had graceful, delicate features. Steve got a lot of his most attractive qualities from his mother’s side. She looked beautiful for a woman even half her age. 

Small talk was made. Peggy tried to avoid bigger topics simply because she wasn’t sure what could be a landmine. Lizzie was playing with some toys in the corner, and she could hear Steve in the bathroom, getting ready. It wasn’t long before he emerged, freshly showered and wearing chinos and a dress shirt. She knew the way Steve dressed – or at least, she had known. He didn’t wear dress shirts unless he had to, which meant he was going somewhere.

“Ready?” Steve asked, pulling on his shoes.

Peggy blinked. “For what?”

Steve lifted his head to stare at her. He looked hesitant and concerned. Very, very concerned. “Are you sure the doctors discharged you without further recommendations?”

“Yes, yes.” She had the paperwork to back it up, if need be.

His brow furrowed a little deeper in worry. “We have to go, Peg. Prep for tomorrow’s press conference.” He nodded towards his mother. “We even got a babysitter for it, remember?”

“Oh,” Peggy said. “Right, of course. I’ll just… get ready.” 

There wasn’t much to do in getting ready. Peggy was already wearing suitable professional clothing. She threw on a jacket, and some other layers to fight off the bitter cold. When they left through the door, Steve kept a slow pace with Peggy, watching her with far too much scrutiny. She knew he was worried. He had a right to be worried. Still, the extra scrutiny from Steve was the last thing she needed. Everyone else, more or less, Peggy could ignore or write off. But Steve? Peggy cared what Steve thought of her. Peggy cared perhaps a little too much. 

As they rode the subway, she tried to strike up a conversation about work, a low-key fishing expedition for information. “How do you feel about tomorrow?”

Steve’s face, already in a dour state, frowned even further. “I still don’t know why I’m the face of this thing. It should be you.”

Given Peggy had no details what this ‘thing’ was, she could have shrugged off the comment. Instead, she gave him a knowing smile, teasing. “Well, you’re going on camera. You’re absolutely the perfect choice for that. Those pretty blue eyes,” she said, “and the lashes.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled, ducking his head a little. And then he tucked Peggy into his side, holding her there with a firm but gentle touch, his hand resting on her hip. He kept her close enough that she could feel the puffs of his breath on her temple. Peggy swayed against him, pressing closer as the clusters of people on the train grew more crowded. 

Peggy was rather captivated with how it felt, leaning against him. For so many years, she’d thought she’d remembered her relationship with Steve through rose-colored glasses. It was impossibly perfect. Surely, he wasn’t as gallant, as charming, as handsome as she remembered. That way it was easier to conjure up ideal versions of their life together, imagining Sunday mornings while doing the crosswords together, or going out for Friday night dates. Peggy had spent so long thinking of Steve as the one that got away, and now she was sorely confronted with the reality that she hadn’t blown everything out of proportions. Steve really was as sweet, as kind, as bloody attractive as she remembered. Being tucked into his side, his arm around her waist, a gentle but heady feeling arose in Peggy. A long-forgotten feeling of comfort, of belonging. It was more intoxicating than wine.

When they finally arrived at the office, it was mostly empty. Peggy wasn’t surprised as it was still the weekend, a day after Christmas. When they made it to the sixth floor, Peggy found a modest series of offices and a nameplate announcing the space as Shield’s HQ. Peggy followed Steve, pretending to be familiar with the place, internally panicking at the idea of being so unprepared for her role within the company.

“Oh, thank god, you’re here,” a tall Englishman said, startling both Peggy and Steve. He had snuck up out of nowhere. “We have an emergency.”

“What is it, Jarvis?” Steve asked.

“Two of the interviewers cancelled for tomorrow,” this Jarvis fellow said, in a panicked state. “They said they’d reschedule, but the Gala isn’t far off. Not much time left to reschedule to!”

Peggy’s focus drifted, the words drowning out into white noise as she fixated on something else. The picture above the mantle. It was a picture of Peggy, in a hospital bed. Nearby, there was a small cart with an incubator. Inside, she could only assume was little Elizabeth, as an infant. Possibly premature, by the size of her. There were tubes crisscrossing everywhere. 

“Miss Carter,” the Englishman called. “Your intervention would be most appreciated at this time. We could do with a bit of your formidable governance.”

Peggy went from staring at his face, to Steve’s, then back at the picture on the wall. This was more than just Steve’s mission, she realized. It had been important to both of them. Because of their little girl. 

“Peg?” Steve’s voice drifted in.

“Yes,” Peggy said, fortifying herself with a quick breath. “Get me the numbers. Knocking some heads together seems like a splendid allocation for my time today.”

#

As it turned out, yelling at people to do their jobs wasn’t something that was inherently exclusive to the field of law. This was perhaps the one aspect of her current life that didn’t make Peggy feel like she was drowning. 

Peggy ran through a gambit of old emails and ordered Jarvis to pull together a few files for reference, and then she got on the phone. At first, she was traded off from one low-level intern to another; then to a secretary; then to production assistant. Finally, she managed to get an associate producer on the line. It took threatening a PR nightmare if the network persisted to ignore Shield. After all, if a non-profit fundraiser meant to help sick children and their families couldn’t get airtime around Christmas, it was surely going to tug at a few heartstrings and anger more than a few citizens. 

By mid-afternoon, she was on the phone with the Executive Producer, promising a prime spot on the morning show. 

The rest of the day was spent dealing with smaller matters. Peggy decided to roll up her sleeve and project manage what she could. It was obvious the interviews had been arranged for a while, as well as a number of other promotions. She wasn’t remotely surprised that Howard’s business, Stark Enterprises, was sponsoring the entire event and splashing their name across every card and promotional ticket. The fundraiser was well organized and moving along, but there was always last-minute hiccups. 

Jarvis, it was quickly proven, could handle more than one crisis at a time, but it was just as obvious he was a little hot under the collar about the oddest of things. For instance, he went on a fifteen-minute diatribe because the wrong type of chairs had been delivered for the event. Peggy was of the mind that a chair was a chair, and certainly nothing that merited a meltdown.

"But I’ve confirmed with all the vendors,” he said. “The decorators arrive at 10:00, the florist by noon. We have the caterers confirmed for both vegan and non-vegan options. The speakers are flying in tomorrow. We have Mr. Stark scheduled as the final speaker, which may or may not be a good call. His orator skills diminish as he consumes more gin throughout the night."

“Yes,” Peggy said, agreeing with a frown. “That may be a problem.”

“May I suggest having his wife as back-up? Mrs. Stark is a dream under pressure and can charm the audience just as well as Howard.”

Peggy blinked, staring up at him. “Beg your pardon?”

“I’m sure Mrs. Stark won’t mind.”

“Mrs. Sta…” Peggy trailed off, coughing. “Howard Stark is married?”

Jarvis looked up, confused, then seemed to take Peggy’s reaction as a joke. He harrumphed heavily. “Yes, against all the odds of the universe, she said yes. A pig somewhere surely gained wings and flew when they tied the knot last summer. Shall I request Mrs. Stark be on standby as a presenter?”

Peggy tried to think of a world, any world, even permitting for the theories of alternative realities in which an infinite number of things could happen, in which Howard Stark was married. She couldn’t fathom it.

Peggy snapped her mouth closed. “Uh, yes. I’m sure that would… be just fine.”

“It’s settled,” Jarvis said, nodding. He strode to the corner of Peggy’s humble office and pulled open a small closet, where a large garment bag was hung up. “And I picked up your dress from the seamstress. The alterations were made to your specifications.”

Peggy could only see the dress through a small see-through square patch at the top of the garment bag. It was red. Bright red, but other than that, she couldn’t see much of the details. She would look closer, later.

“Any other disasters?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jarvis said, emphatically. “With due respect, your husband.”

Peggy raised an eyebrow. 

#

Ten minutes later, it was clear what Jarvis meant. 

Watching Steve rehearse – or fumble through – the practice questions was a painful endeavor. The marketing agent running the mock interview wasn’t even throwing him difficult questions. And it wasn’t that Steve sounded flustered (which he did), or that he kept wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers (which he did), or that he couldn’t remember his lines (which he didn’t); it was more a grand total of all the small and incalculable deficiencies that made it into one big giant mess. Peggy wondered who had decided to put him in all the interviews, before realizing as Director, the decision had likely been _hers_.

“At least he isn’t looking green anymore,” Jarvis commented, idly.

Before Peggy could answer, her cell phone rang. Peggy pulled it out to realize it was Sharon. It was Sunday, which meant this was her usual weekly call with her niece. She flashed Jarvis an apologetic look, stepped away, and answered the phone. She was quickly relieved to find her niece was the one thing that had not changed in this world. Sharon was still smart as a whip, and pleasant to talk to.

“Grandma has been shopping for the party,” Sharon informed in a warning tone. “I think she has three dresses lined up, each more lavish than the last.”

“Which party?”

“The New Year’s party,” Sharon said, a clear frown in her voice. “We’re still on the guestlist, right?”

Oh. Her family was coming up for the fundraiser? That made sense, but the prospect of facing her mother again, especially after the disaster of the last Thanksgiving, wasn’t helping Peggy’s mood. 

Except, Peggy quickly realized, the first flickers of true hope she’d felt since waking up in this absolutely mad dream, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad this time? Peggy was married in this life, with a kid. Her mother had never ceased to harp on the lack of grandchildren that Peggy had produced for her. This year, maybe the true miracle wasn’t waking up next to Steve and their child. Maybe the true miracle would be that her mother could not criticize Peggy to the last inch of her soul. 

“Don’t worry,” Peggy said, feeling emboldened. “The entire family is on the guestlist. It’ll be fun.”

#

When she returned to Steve, she realized he was getting worse and not better with his answers. He was too much in his head, she knew. She called the practice session to an end and insisted on taking Steve out to clear his anxiety a little. This turned into dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant surrounded by soft lighting and slow love songs piped in over the speakers. She and Steve tucked themselves into a curved buttery-brown leather booth, where they ordered appetizers and drinks. 

“This isn’t going to work,” Steve said severely. “I’m not the right person to go in front of the cameras tomorrow.”

“Hush, you weren’t that bad.”

“I was,” Steve argued, scrubbing a hand across his face. “We’ve got too much riding on this. You should—”

“Steve, relax. You're overthinking this.”

Steve snorted. “That’s funny, coming from you.”

“I happen to think about things just the right amount, thank you.”

He gave her a look that told her he knew better. Whatever cheeky response he was going to say was saved by the arrival of the waitress with their drinks. As they sat back and enjoyed the ambiance, Peggy found herself studying Steve – as she had been doing non-stop since waking up the prior morning. She couldn’t help it. 

She decided to be a little bold. “Do you ever wonder how you ended up here?”

“You mean, about to make a fool of myself on television for all of the tri-state area?” 

“No,” Peggy replied emphatically, with a glare. “Here, at this point in your life. Did you ever imagine your life differently? Back in college, is this where you saw yourself?”

“Where is this coming from?”

“Nothing, I was just thinking about life’s way of working out. We've had a lot of good times, haven't we?”

Steve smiled. “I like to think so.”

She kept wondering about the differences in this version of Steve and the other Peggy. What had happened where things had worked out for them? “Is this life what you always wanted?” she asked him. 

Steve seemed surprised by the question, but gamely gave it some thought. “Yeah, more or less. I’ve got you. I’ve got Lizzie. I’ve got a career I’m proud of. I thought I’d be career military for life, but other than that, things turned out mostly how I hoped.”

Peggy hesitated. “Life surprised you when you left the military, didn’t it?”

“Well, yeah. I couldn’t stay away while you were pregnant.” Steve’s eyes darkened a little. “And then the choice became even less of a consideration when my mom needed help with her recovery. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.”

A beat passed, and Peggy realized it like a rough epiphany. “I was there when your mother had the heart attack.”

He reached across the table to grab her hand, squeezing once in gratitude, eyes shining with warmth. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that, no matter how many times I say it.”

So, that was it. When they had stayed together, Peggy had been with her mother-in-law when Sarah had her heart-attack. From what Peggy understood, in her own reality, Sarah Rogers had died alone in her apartment. Then there must have been the rough delivery of Lizzie, which had led to both Steve and Peggy dedicating themselves to S.H.I.E.L.D. It made sense, when it was laid out like that, a simple chain of events that led to a life vastly different to the one she was familiar with.

“Did you ever have your doubts?” Peggy asked, softly. “About us making it?”

Steve looked up. He looked deceptively older, all of a sudden. “Just the one time, after… after Michael passed. That’s the closest I ever got to wondering if we were going to make it. You were so unsure of us, of everything. It made me… terrified. Thinking of a life without you.”

That was the only life she knew. Peggy took a sip from her wine, needing a moment as they both seemed to lose themselves in separate trains of thought. She could see he hated thinking about this thorny moment in their past, even after all these years. That was all it was for him — a moment. But for Peggy, it had set her life on a very divergent path. Peggy could admit it now to herself. Breaking up with Steve had a lot to do with her grief over Michael. People sometimes didn't make the best decisions when heartsick. She couldn't really speak much to the rest of her life here, but Steve? Leaving Steve was a decision she was more and more regretting with each passing moment.

He sighed. “I’m just thankful you changed your mind,” he said, and squeezed her hand again. “I flew in for Christmas, which is when you got pregnant.” He smirked at that. “After years of dating, we had to have a shotgun wedding.” 

Of course. She smiled back. "And the rest, as they say, was history."

The rest of the dinner, she didn’t press anymore about their past. Instead, the entrees arrived, and Peggy tucked into a rather delicious pasta and her light red wine. Her company proved as scintillating and engrossing as she remembered. Steve had always been so well-versed in so many subjects, he had been able to keep up with her handedly no matter the topic. Not a lot of her recent dating history could say the same. And throughout the dinner, Peggy discovered he was equally as physically affectionate as he was attentive to her, sliding down the curved booth so they were pressed hip to shoulder to each other. As they waited for dessert, he reached out for her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, and the gesture made her heart flutter.

After they paid the check, the subway ride home was interminable, even with the thin crowds. It didn’t stop Steve from pressing her to his side again, but there was a different flavor to this embrace than the same one he had given her in the morning. She had dated Steve long enough in the past to know when he was in the mood for more than just handholding and chaste kissing. In public, he was nothing but the picture of a perfect gentlemen, but she could read the entreaty in his eyes, the familiar tilt in his smile that meant he was looking forward to reaching home for more than just rest. And why not? He was with his wife. Peggy was technically his wife. It would be so shockingly easy to let herself fall back into bed – into _love_ – with him. 

But could she really go through with it?

Peggy wasn’t sure she trusted herself, either way.

When they made it back to the apartment, Lizzie was fast asleep. Steve’s mother was quick to make her exit, already yawning and talking about bed. Steve insisted on seeing his mother to the steps of her apartment, which apparently was nearby enough. When he left, promising to return quickly, Peggy found herself in the apartment for the first time with no other waking soul. She took the opportunity to look around, and quickly found herself studying the line of photographs on the fireplace mantle. There were a few of Peggy’s extended family, and a few more of Lizzie as a baby.

Then she came across a picture of their wedding day. Peggy had worn a tasteful simple white dress, her hair in a careful and intricate updo. There was no sign of a baby bump, although Peggy now knew she had been several months pregnant at this time. Steve looked devastatingly handsome in his tux. They each had a champagne glass in hand, looking ridiculously drunk on love. Peggy picked it up and stared at the picture for the longest time, absorbing as much detail as she could. But as much as she found the picture beautiful and captivating, she wasn’t the woman in the white dress. She wasn’t the person who’d given her vows to Steve. 

The sound of the door opening heralded Steve’s arrival. She suddenly needed to keep busy. She needed to keep her hands occupied. Peggy used the excuse of making herself a cup of tea. She braced her hands against the countertop while waiting for the water to boil, willing composure, regaining it after a moment of nameless apprehension. But when Steve’s heavy footsteps fell on the floorboards behind her, Peggy kept her back to him. He came up to her, easily sliding his hands around her waist, a familiarity in his touch that was intoxicating. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“You want to turn in for the night?” he asked, heavily.

Peggy braced herself with a breath. He wasn’t talking about sleep, that much was obvious. When she turned around, not sure of her next response, he caught her lips in a slow kiss that had her melting into him. He pulled her smoothly against him and coaxed her lips against his – a gentle probe. Meant to be comforting, a soft opening salvo intended to lead to further exploration. He spent a long moment just deepening that stolen kiss from her, like he had all the time in the world, like he could just kiss her all night long. He caressed her sides with the back of his knuckles, tracing up and down in a way that left her shivering. Peggy found her arms winding around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair.

For a moment, she lost herself in his lips and the warmth of his body against hers. She had been careful to avoid this. Touches were one thing. Looks, caresses, pressing her body to his side – they were all so innocent in the light of day. This, however, was an embrace with a promise. 

And as much as it was seductive, she couldn’t follow through.

It wasn’t right.

She wasn’t his wife. Not really. She needed to remember that.

When she pulled back, he placed a finger under her chin, making her look up at him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head and forced a smile. “Just have a headache,” she offered, softly. “Is it all right that we just… go to sleep?”

She had surprised him, but he hid it quickly with a nod. “Of course.”

When she pulled away, he didn’t stop her. She wouldn’t lie. A part of Peggy had been hoping that he would, but this was for the best. She needed to remember this was just a glimpse. She needed to remember she wasn't actually his wife.

She needed to remember none of this was real.

#


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning started bright and early. So early, in fact, that the sun wasn’t even out. Steve was taking a shower, getting ready for his morning show interviews. That left Peggy to wrangle a six-year-old. Thankfully, ever since Lizzie had come to some strange sort of understanding with Peggy, things had been easier to manage. The child didn’t expect a mother, but Peggy had been an aunt for nearly two decades now. Managing breakfast was simple – if hectic – enough. Lizzie apparently hated the idea of sitting still, so Peggy had to chase her down a few times to finish her breakfast.

Afterwards, she expected Steve to be dressed and ready, but she walked into their bedroom to the sounds of the shower still running in their adjoining bathroom. He normally did a military five-minute shower. Frowning, Peggy knocked on the bathroom door and called out to him. There was no response. She pushed the door open cautiously.

Sure enough, Steve was still standing under the stream of hot water. The shower was a frosted glass stall, and even with the steam fogging up the glass partition, Peggy could see the rough outline of his body. Peggy would be lying if she said she didn’t want to further peek, but she had come to a decision the prior night, and she needed to remember herself. This life wasn’t real. This was a figment of some weird fake reality, and it would do her no good to lose herself in it. It was one thing to feel him wrapped around her at night, especially after the prior evening where she had almost, momentarily, given in to the impulse of bedding him. It was another thing to keep playing with fire.

She carefully looked away from the fogged-up glass. “Steve? You need to hurry. We have to be on our way soon.”

There was no response.

“Steve?”

The shower door slid open suddenly, startling Peggy into looking. Steve was standing under the stream of water. _All of Steve._ Peggy wanted her eyes to stay trained on his face, she really did. It was pathetic, then, how quickly her gaze tripped downwards on their own accord. Her thoughts tumbled in the same direction, watching rivulets of water run down the natural hard lines of his chest and body. His entire body was as sculpted and well-toned as she remembered – better, even. From his broad shoulders, to his narrow waist, to his— 

_Lord have mercy._

“I can’t do this,” he said, sounding rattled.

“Pardon?” Peggy snapped her eyes up, face flushing.

“These interviews. They’re a bad idea, Peg. I can’t do it.”

Oh. He was having nerves. “Oh. Steve, you’re going to do fine. This is perfectly natural to feel some—”

“I’m going to make a fool of myself,” Steve stopped her, glowering. He seemed unmindful of the fact that he was standing nude in front of her, and of course he was. He thought she was his wife, and modesty had never been a thing between them when they’d dated for nearly a decade. “And worse,” he continued, eyes slamming shut in mortification, “I’m going to make a fool of Shield. We need the donations to come in and—”

“Steve, relax. You’re overthinking this—”

“I’m really not.”

Peggy cleared her throat, quite impressed with herself as she stayed focused on his face when she stepped forward. She reached inside the shower and shut off the stream. She snagged the nearby towel and offered it to him. He didn’t take the hint, at first, but she pressed it pointedly against his abdomen. His ridiculously well-cut abdomen, all glistening and delicious. She barely stopped herself from reaching forward to feel the firmness of one of his pecs, remembering herself only dimly, only at the last split-second.

When he wrapped the towel around his waist, Peggy felt her ability to control her higher functions return in margins. She could handle an anxious Steve, albeit a half-naked one. He was alarmingly straightforward and always showed his emotions, at least to her, as easy to read as an open book. He was more worried about doing damage to the fundraiser than he was about humiliating himself. The man bore every mistake and hardship as if it was his own damn fault, whether that responsibility was truly his or not. 

“My darling,” the old affectionate nickname slipped from her lips, unthinking, “you are a perfect example of why Shield deserves recognition and attention. There is no one that is more personally and heavily invested in this than you. You won’t let us down.”

He sighed, stepping out of the shower, still dripping water everywhere. “How do you know?”

“Do you trust me?”

He blinked, as if the question was absurd. “Of course.”

“Then trust in my instincts,” she said. Even after nearly a decade apart, she knew she could rely on this man to pull through. He always pulled through for others. “You won’t let us down. I hardly know a braver man than you. You’ll get over your nerves. You’ll get in front of those cameras, and you’ll think about Lizzie. You’ll think about what your mother had to go through when you were a sick child. You’ll find the strength, I promise.”

He sighed again, but then also seemed to brace himself with a deeper, heavier breath. Her words seemed to be having the intended effect on him. She grabbed another spare towel off the rack, draping it over his head and then working it through his damp hair. He offered a small chuckle, head falling eagerly forward to allow her better access to the task. He’d dripped water everywhere, but she could feel the tension dropping from his body as she dried him off. When she finally draped the towel over his shoulders, his hair was sticking up in tuffs of random directions everywhere. He had a soft smile on his face. 

He was, bar none, still the most handsome man she had ever known.

Then he did something that caught Peggy by surprise, although it shouldn’t have. He kissed her, a warm press of his mouth against hers, where she could taste the water on his lips. He pulled back and rested his forehead against hers for a long second, lingering, and Peggy inhaled the scent of his aftershave and shampoo. Beneath that, he was all warm, all familiar hard lines. Peggy had to close her eyes at how close his body was to her.

“Thank you,” he told her, sounding calmer. “I think I needed a dose of that.”

“Of what?”

“Your faith.” He smiled. “It always helps me find my own.” 

“Go,” she managed, somehow, clearing her throat. “Get dressed. Make yourself handsome for those cameras, so America can fall in love with you just like—”

She had been about to say, _just like I did._

He kissed her forehead once, stepping past her, a man renewed with conviction.

And now that it was Peggy’s turn to take a shower, she wondered if a cold one would do anything.

#

The rest of the morning was utter madness. They had a series of three interviews on competing talk shows, all scheduled one-after-another. They were given a short five-minute roundtable slot at designated times and places, and hopefully it would reach as many people in the tri-state area as possible. The studios were all centrally located within a few blocks of each other, but the morning commute was crushing. Lizzie had tagged along because Sarah had been unable to babysit. When they finally made it to the subway, it had become so crowded that Steve had to lift his daughter up onto his shoulders and let her perch there for the entire hour-long commute. 

Peggy hadn't grown up with American television, much less the spectacle of morning news programs. She didn’t understand the fixation of entertainment news, or the idea of the spit-shined, fair-haired anchorman and woman bantering with each other over mugs of coffee. She didn’t understand it, but she knew their merits. Peggy stood with Lizzie in the far back, well behind the cameramen and staff, watching as the first of the interviews unfolded. She had Lizzie’s hand in hers, and perhaps Peggy had been just a _touch_ nervous on Steve’s behalf, more than she had let on; Lizzie had complained halfway through that Peggy was squeezing her hand too tightly. 

As it turned out, the anxiety wasn’t necessary. The hosts responded to Steve just as she predicted. They were, of course, utterly charmed by him. The first interview started a bit awkward, yes, with Steve answering gruffly, blushing profusely in that handsome shade of red. But the hosts were trained to put their guests at ease. _Sixty Minutes,_ this was not. They tossed in a joke, and Steve had laughed a little, loosening up. He managed not the muck things up, getting through all the relevant information. The purpose of Shield, how many families it helped, the dedication of the non-profit staff and people like him. The feed had a small banner at the bottom of the screen with the details of the New Years’ Eve Gala, as well as a phone number for donations. 

The interview was barely over before she was getting texts from Jarvis, telling her the calls had already started rolling in with donations. Peggy breathed a sigh of relief, which was nothing in comparison to the jubilation that Steve bore on his face when he finished his interview and stepped off stage. 

Hopefully this would give him the confidence to fight through his dread for the next two interviews. 

They had to rush several blocks to catch his next interview, and once again, Lizzie could hardly keep up with their pace; Steve hosted her into his arms as they jogged the last few blocks. Peggy had managed to keep up despite the snow and her high heels, but they had reached the studio lobby floor with only minutes to spare. By the time security had cleared them, there was barely any time for Peggy to have a few words with Steve to calm him down. He looked more harried about this interview than he had in the prior one.

“Smile at your father, dear,” Peggy told Lizzie. “He needs the extra bit of motivation.”

Lizzie smiled and waved happily at her father, and Steve caught sight of them and smiled back, taking a deep breath. The interviewers and camera cut to him just as he exhaled.

The second interview went just as well as the first, if not slightly better. This time, Steve didn’t fumble, not even at the beginning. Once again, she got an update from Jarvis, gushing with delight over the outpouring of calls and donations. The tickets for the Gala were quickly being sold out. The interview was over before Peggy had a chance to unwind from her nerves, but she could feel her pride for Steve blooming in her chest. 

The third studio was closer, and thus left them feeling less frazzled upon arrival. They had plenty of time before Steve’s segment began, and all of them were ushered into the back of the studio. Behind a long-curved glass desk, there were a handsome pair of hosts. Jeffry Brandt and Lorraine Tyler made up the highest-rated morning show in New York. He was as charismatic as a skilled politician, and she was an absolute knockout with a sharp tongue. They were the darling couple of the Morning Shows.

She watched Steve get his mic in order, and a make-up person came by to touch up a few spots of whatever imaginary blemishes they could find. Peggy tried to calm her nerves again. The hosts made their informal introductions to Steve, and she could see they were chatting him up off camera, hopefully putting him at ease. It didn’t matter that Steve had already done well on the first two interviews. If he bungled up this last one, that would be all he would focus on.

However, it was at this point, while the show was following one of the other segments off-stage, that she watched Lorraine lean over and whisper something into Steve’s ear. Far more closely than she needed to do. Lorraine placed a hand over Steve’s bicep, and tipped her head back and laughed as if Steve had said something absolutely hilarious. Judging by Steve’s surprised face, Peggy suspected he hadn’t said any such thing. She knew flirting when she saw it. She imagined Steve had to deal with more than his fair share of it, looking like he did, but she wondered if he still remained naively oblivious to it while it happened. When they’d dated, she’d seen any number of women throw themselves at Steve, with him remaining largely none the wiser. He could be as obtuse as a thick brick, not that Lorraine was being particularly subtle. 

Peggy wondered if Lorraine had noticed the ring on his finger, or if she just didn’t care.

“Can we get hot chocolate?” Lizzie asked, already bored of the day and the spectacle.

“In a bit, Lizzie,” Peggy said, distracted. “Your father needs to do this one last bit.”

Lizzie frowned, clearly displeased with the answer.

A moment later, one of the producers announced they had to unexpectedly break away to another developing story, which cut into Steve’s timeslot. They asked him to get up and leave the studio desk for a bit, and they’d call him back when they had time for him. Steve obliged quickly, pulling free his mic and climbing off stage with a frown.

“Do you think they’ll still have time for me?” he asked Peggy, nervously.

Peggy hummed. “I imagine Lorraine will make time.”

“What?” Steve said, dimly.

Peggy sighed. Somehow, the man remained an obtuse brick. He stood awkwardly in silence at her side, sensing her mood, even as the program continued to play out in front of them. Lorraine and Brandt were both ardent professionals, easily playing off each other with a flirtatious banter, but Peggy realized the difference between fake flirtation and genuine one. Lorraine’s interest in Steve had been genuine.

Peggy knew it was unfair, and irrational, but she couldn’t believe Steve remained so ignorant to these things even after all these years. 

After a while, they were approached again. “You’re up in two minutes,” a strawberry blonde assistant told Steve, coming up behind them. She waited for something to be said over her headset and then shook her head. “Correction, one minute. Get ready.”

Steve nodded. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and she realized he was nervous again. Peggy frowned. The last thing she wanted was to send him up onstage agitated. 

“You’ll do fine,” she told him.

“I wish I could do something with all this pent-up energy. I feel like I’m about to explode.”

“Take a deep breath.”

“I’ve been doing those all morning. It’s not working anymore.”

An idea struck her. Before he could open his mouth to voice whatever further objections he could lodge, Peggy grabbed him by the tie and hauled him to her, planting her mouth firmly against his. She was aware that Lorraine was watching. She was aware it was probably petty jealousy as much as any measure to reassure Steve that was prompting the kiss. She was just as aware, however, of the feel of Steve’s lips pressed against her, the heat of his body as he angled it towards her, his surprised grunt that melted into a groan as she expertly remembered the ways to drive Steve senseless with a single kiss. She had forgotten the thrill of kissing him by half, because it was rich and inebriating, and she really needed to do it more often. It was a blatant act of territorialism, but Peggy felt pleased as punch when she pulled back to see the dazed look on Steve’s face.

“For luck,” she told him.

She wiped off the lipstick on his mouth and shoved him towards the strawberry blonde assistant, who was looking on with an amused expression on her face. Steve stumbled a little, fixed his tie and made his way to the stage, still looking stunned. His nerves appeared to have disappeared.

Peggy hid her smile very, very poorly.

Then she looked down, and noticed Lizzie was absent. Steve’s segment began, but Peggy could hardly pay it any attention. She looked around the backlot of the studio, trying to find Lizzie, but she was nowhere to be seen. Anxiety washed over her as she made her way through the small-gathered crowd. She stopped a few of the staff and patrons, describing Lizzie and asking if they’d seen her. No one was particularly helpful.

Panic started to set in when she finished a circuit of the studio, with no sign of her daughter. She had no idea where Lizzie was. She’d been so preoccupied with Steve and his interview, with bloody Lorraine, she hadn’t been paying attention to a six-year-old child. Peggy had been put in charge of taking care of a little girl, and she hadn’t been paying attention. Not for days, now. Not really. What kind of irresponsible person was she? She was supposed to be a mother.

What if something happened to Lizzie?

The thought was _terrifying_ , as were the accompanying scenarios swirling in her head. Normally one to remain calm, the sudden grip of terror that Peggy felt in those next few moments was unlike anything else she had ever experienced in her life. 

“But where’s the hot chocolate?” a small voice said, from a distance.

Peggy whirled around, sagging in relief as she saw Lizzie at the end of the corridor, talking to a woman in a pencil skirt. Peggy rushed up, gathering the little girl in her arms, exhaling hard as if her body had just run a marathon. 

The pencil-skirt woman smiled. “Is this your mommy?”

“The aliens have my mommy,” Lizzie said. 

“Lizzie!” Peggy sighed. “Sorry, yes, this is my daughter.”

The other woman looked amused, nodded, and left. 

“I just wanted hot chocolate,” Lizzie muttered. “I didn’t think it’d be far.”

“You do not wander off like that by yourself. You scared me half to death! Are you all right?” She pulled back, inspecting her daughter.

But Lizzie frowned, not realizing the implications of what could have happened. She shrugged in a rather brazen manner for a six-year-old. “I still have no hot chocolate.”

Peggy maybe would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been on the verge of tears. Never, not in her thirty-four years of life, had she ever felt such terror. It had only been minutes, but the irrational fear and horrible scenarios that had rushed through Peggy’s mind had felt significant enough to scar Peggy for life. She needed to get her head on straight. If anything had happened to this little girl—

“Mommy?” Lizzie said, squinting a little as she studied Peggy’s face. “Is that you? Did they return you?”

Peggy couldn’t figure out how to respond to that. Instead, she just hugged Lizzie back to her chest in relief. That was how Steve found them, Peggy hugging the little girl as if her life depended on it. 

“What happened?” he asked, concerned.

“Nothing,” Peggy tried, collecting herself. “She just slipped away for a moment. Gave me the scare of my life.”

Steve’s concern turned towards Lizzie with a frown. “You know not to do that, honey. You’ve been told—”

“I know,” the little girl grumbled. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Lizzie mumbled. “Mommy is just confused because the aliens just returned her.”

Peggy froze. 

“What?” Steve managed.

Peggy shook her head. “Please don’t bother asking.”

Thankfully, Steve didn’t. But Peggy’s emotions must have still been too close to the surface. “Are you okay?” Steve asked her. 

Peggy nodded, rising up, then pulled the girl into her arms. She was almost too heavy for Peggy to hold, but Peggy felt she needed the girl in her arms for the time being. “How did the interview go?”

“Good,” Steve said, and his answer seemed genuine enough. “Same as the other two.”

Peggy nodded, relieved. “Let’s all go get some hot chocolate, shall we? I think we all deserve it.”

#

The days passed by, and Peggy fell into a pattern within the week. She sensed this was not the time to rock the boat, so she tried to adapt into this domestic life as much as possible. The mornings were the easiest, if a bit hectic – waking up in Steve’s arms certainly wasn’t a hardship, and helping Lizzie get ready for school always turned into an adventure or a ten-minute-long debate about the child’s preferences for clothing. Steve would prepare quick breakfasts, and then all of them would be rushing out the door for a horrible commute. Peggy quickly found there was a rhythm to the madness. 

She would blink and the afternoon would be gone in the rush of work. Her grasp of things at Shield picked up each day until Peggy felt more and more sure-footed. Besides, the entire week was spent making calls to last minute big-name donors and clearing up any disarray for the upcoming fundraiser. It was much like orchestrating a circus, but Peggy was getting the hang of it with the help of Steve, Jarvis, and a few others at work.

The evenings were the most pleasant. They’d pick up Lizzie from Sarah’s place, who always babysat after school. Peggy didn’t cook, but Steve wasn’t half as bad in the kitchen as her, so she’d keep Lizzie occupied with books or a few games while he was in the kitchen. Lizzie’s active imagination came to life during story time, even if she had entirely dropped the whole _aliens-abducted-my-mother_ bit. Peggy’s strides with Lizzie grew by leaps and bounds, given that Peggy quickly realized Lizzie wasn’t, in fact, a ticking timebomb. She was just a little hellion on tiny legs, who had enough energy to put a team of teenagers to shame. 

By seven or so in the evening, they’d usually spread out the fare on the kitchen table while Lizzie regaled them all of her latest triumphs in kindergarten. Sometimes Sarah would join them for dinner, but mostly it was just the three of them. By eight-thirty, they were putting Lizzie to bed. 

Peggy didn’t know what it meant that she could fall into the pattern so quickly, so easily. It wasn’t without stumbles or awkwardness, but it should have probably felt more out of place than it did. She should have been missing her work, her real life. She should have been climbing the walls trapped in this world that wasn’t her own. She wasn’t, though. Sure, there were things she missed about her old life, like her apartment and her clothes, and the utter satisfaction of beating Jack Thompson in the quarterly bonuses. Oddly enough, she missed court work too, even with its endless waiting and postulating. She missed her secretary, Rose. She missed the corner café, where she used to get her coffee. She missed a lot of the people she used to see on a daily basis. 

But she didn’t miss the insane hours at work, or the lonely evenings with takeout for one. She dreaded the idea of returning to spend her nights in a bed that didn’t have Steve nestled in it; no matter how soft and luxurious the sheets were, no matter the thread count, without him in it, it was just a cold bed.

But it was on the day before the fundraiser that they came home very late from work. Steve’s mother had already put Lizzie to bed at her place, and it had been decided that she would spend the night there. The next day, as Sarah was joining the fundraiser festivities, Lizzie had a slumber party date with her friend from school over New Year’s Eve. Cassie Lang was another precocious six-year-old, and Peggy liked her stepmother well enough. Her squirrely father, on the other hand, took some getting used to. Scott Lang seemed like the type that should switch to decaf permanently. 

So, instead of picking up their daughter, Peggy spent the commute home engaged in an ongoing debate about Steve’s hair. It was just a few inches too long, in Peggy’s opinion, and his beard needed a trim or an outright shave. They’d been debating about it all week, wondering what his best look would be for the fundraiser, not that he didn’t look handsome either way. While Peggy was a fan of the beard, she rather thought he’d best present himself as clean-shaven with a fresh haircut. The _All-American-Boy_ look. Steve argued his beard could just use a trim. Eventually, however, he gave into Peggy’s wheedling, agreeing with a small smile that both a shave and a haircut was in order. 

However, Steve, the cheapskate that he was, refused to go the barbershop, which was how Peggy found herself pushing him into a chair in front of her vanity. She wrapped a towel around his shoulders and set her instruments out in a line on the countertop. Bits of long strands of his hair easily fell over his eyes when she parted it down the center.

“Not too much,” Steve warned.

“Oh, hush,” Peggy chided. 

She’d done this plenty of times. Not with Steve in the last few years, but plenty of times before that. 

The process was rather mundane, at first. Snippets of his dirty-blonde hair found its way onto the floor in increasing little piles. Peggy pushed back the hair at the nape of his neck, testing the length between her fingers, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. His hair was so ridiculously thick and lush, it took longer than she expected to get it even and straight. She was so entirely concentrated in the endeavor, in fact, that when she stepped around him to look from the front, she didn’t notice that Steve’s hands had found their way to the back of her thighs, effectively trapping her between his parted legs. He kneaded her muscles, ever gently, looking up at her with a lock of damp hair falling across his forehead. Peggy suddenly lost her breath at the heated look in his eyes.

Without even thinking, she slowly stretched out a hand. Her fingertips brushed against Steve's forehead, pushing back his hair and dragging fingers back across his scalp before she even realized what she was doing. Steve closed his eyes and his head dipped forward, groaning softly. 

Peggy pulled her hand back, reluctantly.

_Steady on, Peggy. Steady on._

Now that she was aware of it, it was hard to miss the tension in the air. Peggy tried to shift her attention back to the task at hand, but it wasn’t easy. Steve, for his part, sensed her withdrawal. She doubted he knew what to make of it. He had to be confused about the number of times she kept retreating from any sort of true intimacy. He’d tried to initiate things here and there, and Peggy had always politely but firmly pulled back. Steve had taken the hint at every turn, but she could tell it was starting to raise suspicions. They had never been one to keep their hands to themselves while they dated. She could tell that marriage hadn’t changed that drastically. 

Peggy finished cutting his hair in silence, finally get the lengths even on either side. It was a pretty good job, if she did say so herself. 

She was about to start cleaning up when Steve stopped her. “What about my beard?” 

Peggy paused, looking back at him. There was a challenge in Steve’s eyes, as clear as day. She could tell he was testing her somehow, as calmy as he could. He held up the shaving cream and straight razor, and it was another thing Peggy used to do for him, when the mood struck. Learning how to shave with a straight razor was a delicate art in and of itself. She had steady hands and a keen eye. She could get a closer shave with a straight blade than most men could do with any modern-day equivalent. 

Peggy set her things back on the countertop, took the shaving cream and set it aside. The first thing was applying a hot wet towel to his face, which she warmed in the microwave. She laid it across his face, letting the damp towel soften his skin and facial hair in preparation. Peggy also took the time to steady herself. She felt like she could still feel the ghost of his warm fingers on the back of her thighs, and Peggy looked heavenward, towards the ceiling, taking a deep calming breath. Steve sat, face hidden underneath the towel, oblivious to her turmoil. Why did he have to be so goddamn handsome all the time? 

After a long moment, she pulled off the towel. “You sure you want me to do this?”

He could just as easily do it himself.

Steve didn’t offer his normal smile, that confident, easy-going one that she had become so familiar with. He was watching her too closely, studying her as if trying to deconstruct exactly what was going on in her head. He didn’t say anything, which Peggy took as assent to continue.

After that, the entire process was hushed because Peggy wanted to concentrate. Once the shaving cream was applied, the slightest wrong angle could nick his skin and he’d bleed. Diligent as she could manage, she set the straight razor at an angle and slid it down his cheek, leaving behind the first patch of long smooth skin. She was intensely aware of her proximity to him, the innate trust within this act. She had only ever done this with Steve. He was the only one that ever had enough confidence in her not to hurt him. 

Peggy focused on the repetition of the task, moving from line to line across the right side of the face, then his left. The trickiest part was always the neck — the skin in that area extremely thin and sensitive. She tilted his head back with a finger under his chin, and he obliged, exposing the long column of his neck. Peggy held a stretch of his skin as firmly as she could, and then pressed the blade to his neck and ran it up, making a clean swipe. 

The entire time, Steve sat coolly under her hands, completely at her mercy. 

He was still so warm under her touch.

When she was done, there was a trace here and there left of shaving cream, which Peggy wiped off with a long drag of the towel across his face. His hands had returned to that spot behind her thighs, gripping possessively as she pulled the towel away. His face was smooth and clean, not a trace of stubble anywhere. Without his beard, he looked more like the man she knew in the military, the man she first fell in love with. The way he was watching her, though – the way he’d _been_ watching her this entire time – made Peggy suddenly ache with the memory of the first time they made love. They’d been so young, and she’d fallen for him faster than a bullet. 

Peggy cleared her throat and started to pull away. But the next thing she knew, Steve rose up and his mouth had latched onto hers – warm, wet, _firm._ His tongue pressed boldly against her, pushing passed the barrier of her lips, tugging her under before she had a chance to resist. In an instant, she was breathless and struggling for control, fisting her hand around his shirt to drag him closer. She’d forgotten he could kiss like this, so demanding and singularly focused that Peggy would forget her own name. Any thoughts were eclipsed by the warmth rushing through her veins. 

The first kiss bled into the second, then a third, quickly spiraling into half a dozen more, and she was gone, not caring, not thinking. When he leaned down and nuzzled his face against the warmth of her neck, just inhaling the scent of her, Peggy's eyes slammed shut, body fighting off a dark shiver that worked up her spine. His tongue darted out, tasting the column of her long neck, sucking on the exposed skin. A faint moan escaped her lips, and the next thing Peggy knew, she was pressed up against her vanity, deliciously trapped by his larger frame. 

His fingers easily found the space between her shirt and her pants, fingertips brushing her skin lightly before he pushed the materials further apart. Heat pooled low in her belly as his fingers slipped under the waistband of her slacks, pressing roughly against her underwear with practiced familiarity. Her eyes squeezed shut tightly.

She should stop this.

She knew that.

But when he dragged a hot mouth across the exposed column of her neck, down a little towards her chest, she couldn't stop herself from moaning again, or the encouraging drag of her fingers through his hair. Her other hand fell to his shoulders, gripping possessively. He was always so wonderfully masculine, his broad and solid muscles tensing and flexing under her fingers, clothes bunching at the seams as he pushed up against her. His fingers persisted in those maddening strokes between her legs. 

The intensity of everything was commanding. The drugged effect it had on her almost enough to make her forget. Almost enough to make her think of nothing but her desires.

Almost. 

“Steve,” she breathed heavily, imploring. “Steve, stop.”

God, how she wanted this – but it wasn’t right. Steve thought she was his wife of seven years; he fundamentally did not understand the true dynamics between them. It wasn’t fair to him, inasmuch as it wasn’t fair to her either. She couldn’t let them get lost to this feeling, not when half the picture was a lie.

It took a herculean amount of strength to pull free, but this time when she did, Steve didn't follow after. She turned away, her fingers curling tightly into fists. She ignored the tension thrumming in her body, considering it a weakness, and straightened out her clothing.

“What?” Steve breathed heavily, confused. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, unable to articulate a thing. 

A look of uncertainty and distress crossed his face. “Did I—did I do something wrong?” 

“No, god. Steve, no – you didn’t. It’s just…”

“Just what?” 

He looked disheveled; the haircut she’d so painstakingly given him now mussed into complete disarray. She pointedly overlooked the bulge in his trousers, too. But it was the tender hurt on his face that was too much. Steve couldn’t understand any of this. How could he? 

"It’s just…" she began, helplessly. "I don’t…"

What? _Want this?_ _Want him?_ He’d see through that lie. He’d see through most of her lies, actually. It wasn’t a matter of desire. It was a matter of right and wrong. Steve had no idea who she was. He thought he knew, but god, he had no idea. It was such a mess.

A somber expression settled on his face, mixed with concern. “Peg, tell me what’s going on. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted – _lied._

He paused, hesitating, as if he was almost afraid to speak the next sentence. “But… you’ve been… _off_ for a while now. You pull away when I touch you. And you haven’t touched me on your own in days—”

“That’s not true,” she argued, faintly. 

Peggy remembered every single touch between them with startling clarity, and she was far from innocent in that regard. Still, she could see his point too, in how she withdrew whenever things ventured even remotely into heavier territory. This had been her worst transgression, but certainly not the only one.

“Peggy, just tell me,” he implored. “You don’t want sex, then that’s fine. But… what’s going on? And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because neither of us believes that.”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion,” Peggy told him, roughly. “I’m just – tired, is all. I’m not in the mood.”

This time, he stilled. Maybe he believed her, but she doubted it. Something on her face must have betrayed her churning emotions, because even though he was still clearly concerned, he didn’t move towards her, didn’t so much as budge a muscle. What he thought he saw, Peggy couldn’t say. She just knew she had to take advantage of the moment.

She retreated out of the room without a backwards glance.

#

That night, there was a giant chasm between them in bed. Steve didn’t so much as step a foot beyond his side of the bed. It was the first night he hadn’t wrapped himself around her, the first night she hadn’t fallen asleep in his arms. 

Peggy rather hated it, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Perhaps it was for the best?

#

The next day, there was too much to do in preparation for the Gala for her to focus on much else. Working on last minute logistics made the morning a whirlwind that quickly dissolved into the afternoon. Peggy was supposed to pick up her mother and the rest of her family from the airport, but last-minute fiascos kept erupting (first the caterer bringing in the wrong vegan option, then the venue failing to offer enough space in the kitchen for the set up, then the decorator being late). She had to send off Jarvis to handle the pick-up and got a very angry call from her mother for the offense.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Peggy offered, for the third time in under a minute. 

Her mother hummed in disapproval. “Just be sure to offer us the curtesy of saying hello at the Gala, at least. If you can deign it.”

An assistant was sticking something in her hands for a signature, and Peggy frowned as she signed it. “I’ll be sure to make plenty of time for you, Mother. I promise. It’s just a little hectic right now with the preparations.”

“Will Steve be picking us up from the hotel to take us to the venue?” her mother asked.

Peggy sighed. They hadn’t planned on it. It was easier than the alternative, though. Deborah Carter always had a rather soft spot for Steve, and Peggy wasn’t above using it to her advantage. Things were awkward with Steve for the moment, but she could convince him easily of the favor. He never could deny her much of anything, and Peggy didn’t have the patience to go ten rounds of guilt-tripping with her mother on top of everything else she had to deal with today. 

“Of course, Mother. I’ll check in with Steve and see if he’s available, but he should be able to chauffeur you to the event.”

“And you’ll tell him to arrive promptly? I hate to be late to events. You know that.”

“Of course.”

It took another five minutes before Peggy managed to hang up, and all-in-all her mood turned sour because of it. She loved her mother, she truly did, but few could manage to get under her skin so easily. Peggy always felt more stressed out after talking to her. Even with the hope that Deborah would not have her usual complaints (i.e., _Peggy worked too much; she didn’t make time for family; she’d never give Deborah any grandchildren at this rate,_ etc…), Peggy wasn’t sure she had the fortitude of another family get-together with all the other stresses she had going on lately. 

Work continued at a relentless rate, and she was already running late when evening fell. She hadn’t yet had an opportunity to track down Steve to ask him for the favor when she literally stumbled into him in the hallway. He steadied her with a firm grip at her waist, and she looked up, then swallowed. He was halfway dressed in a smart slim-fit three-piece number. His jacket was tucked under one arm, and his bowtie was still undone. He looked harried, like he’d been in a rush himself, but terribly handsome in his tuxedo suit. 

Peggy stared at him for a bit, just admiring the view. 

“Steady there,” Steve warned, cheekily.

His grin told her he wasn’t talking about her near tumble. He knew the effect he was having on her, not that she’d ever been one to hide her appreciation. The ribbing eased any last bit of tension away that had lingered from the night before; they had too many things to worry about. 

“You’re dressed already?” she said with surprise.

Steve held up the ends of his tie. “Almost. Can you help with this?”

Peggy smiled, already reaching forward to pop his collar properly so she could fix the tie. “Just how did you ever manage to get along without me?”

“I didn’t,” he told her, in a serious tone. 

Peggy hummed as she set about doing the bowtie. It took a few tries to get the length just right; she was out of practice as much as anyone with tying the thing, but eventually she had it right. Afterwards, she pressed the palms of her hands flat atop his shoulders, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. He looked such a sinful sight.

“Well?” Steve looked far too pleased with himself, which probably had to do with the way she was staring at him. “Do I pass inspection?”

“Barely,” she allotted irreverently, and she couldn’t help herself, she really couldn’t. She tugged him down for a quick kiss, marvelously pleased with herself as a trace of her red lipstick stained his lips. They both laughed as she wiped it off. “Now since you’re dressed before I’ve even begun, I have a terrible favor to ask.”

“What?”

“Pick up my family for me? They’re at the hotel, and you know my mother can’t handle ordering an Uber.”

Steve smiled. “I was already planning on it.”

“You are a dream,” she mumbled, repressing the urge to kiss him again.

“I’ll meet you at the Gala, then?”

She nodded. “And don’t be late. We’ll have to greet the guests as they arrive.”

He walked away, and Peggy took a moment to admire the view from the back as well. He turned to look over his shoulder, catching her stare, and chuckled as he turned the corner. She shook her head and set about getting ready. 

Her clothes, make-up, and accessories were all waiting for her in her office. She wanted to get her hair and make-up in order before she even attempted to pull on her dress. Peggy had already tried the gown on for size, and it was a flattering (if tight) fit. She wondered, rather belatedly, if she could manage to sit in the thing without tearing it. The dress was entirely for show and not comfort, and while strikingly complimentary, Peggy wasn’t going to be in the dress for a moment longer than necessary.

It took her a while to sort out her hair and makeup. Her eyes took the longest, but Peggy had plenty of practice. She filled in her eyebrows, applied eye-shadow primer, kept it simple with a single copper-tone eye shadow, then added a black wing of liner and some mascara. She added just the right depth to her checks with some highlighter and a gold-flecked bronzer, a touch of rose-gold blush, and then finished off the look with her signature red lipstick. Her hair was the final task, an updo held together with a million bobby pins. 

Finally, it came time to step into her dress. Peggy held her breath as she zipped it up and stepped into the heels that brought the hemline to the proper floor length. Then she looked at herself in the mirror, rather pleased with the sight. The dress was the same bold color as her lips – a bright red. The outline was a strong column down to her heels, one that accentuated her curves and fitted around her bodice tightly. The neckline was curved with a keyhole peep that showed off just a hint of cleavage without giving away the farm. All in all, she thought she looked rather satisfactory, indeed. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Steve’s face.

Getting to the Gala was another ordeal. Traffic was horrible, and by the time she arrived, she was already forty-five minutes late. Thankfully the place had only just started to fill, but she saw one of the few tables fully occupied was crowded with her extended family. Her mother was talking with Steve’s mother in hushed tones, and her nieces and nephews were all seated in a tight huddle. Her sister-in-law, Michael’s widow, looked gorgeous in a blue dress – and even had a date for the night. Peggy couldn’t remember his name for the life of her and hoped she could enlist Sharon for help. 

When she approached the table, she got swept up in a round of hugs. “Aunt Peggy, you look gorgeous!” Sharon exclaimed excitedly. 

Sharon didn’t look so bad herself, but Peggy kept expecting to see her sixteen-year-old niece with braces. Instead, she’d grown into her own as a young college freshman, a stunning tall blonde that looked at ease in a banquet filled with people twice her age.

Her mother was the last to hug Peggy. “You do look delightful, dear,” Deborah said, pressing a kiss to Peggy’s cheek. “Be sure to keep reapplying that lipstick, though. The look wouldn’t do without that final touch.”

“Of course, Mother,” she managed. “Where’s Steve?”

“Out talking to that Howard fellow,” Deborah said, with a critical frown.

Her mother had never approved of Howard, of course. Mostly, Peggy found she had little to defend him, because Howard was, of course, _Howard._

She took the time to chat for a few more minutes, then made her excuses. Steve was on the other end of the room, indeed talking with Howard. Peggy looked around, hoping to spot his lovely blonde date, the infamous Maria Stark, but the two men were alone. Peggy was rather curious about Maria, the woman that had managed to lock down the known philanderer. Everything she’d gathered about Maria from various sources had only painted the picture of a strong, vibrant woman. Maria was from humble beginnings, from what the internet provided. With Howard’s money, she was now a philanthropist and socialite, but Peggy was hoping to find out a little more tonight. She had no idea how Maria had met Howard in this reality, only that clearly something had happened here that hadn’t happened in Peggy’s real world. 

“Damn,” Howard said, spotting Peggy first. He elbowed Steve in the stomach next to him, who turned around at his direction. “How’d you ever manage to get her to marry your ugly mug?”

Steve stared at her, mouth slowly dropping open. “No idea,” he said, in a splendidly flustered voice. Peggy laughed as she approached him. “You look – _Jesus, Peg_.”

She set her hand on her hips and smiled. “Well?” She knew she looked far too pleased with herself, which probably had to do with the way Steve was staring at her. “Do I pass inspection?”

Steve only grinned and tried to reel her in for a kiss. “Stop,” she pulled back, laughing. “You’ll ruin my lipstick, and I’ll never hear the end of it from my mother.”

Howard straightened. “Deborah is here?” he said, in a fearful tone.

Peggy couldn’t blame him. “Indeed. Do stop by her table and at least say hello, if you can manage it without quaking in your boots.”

Howard made a face. “A wave hello from a suitable distance doesn’t suffice?”

Peggy was spared a response by the arrival of another woman. Maria Stark – looking blonde, beautiful, and stylish in a crisp black dress. “Peggy, thank heavens,” she said, relieved. She kissed Peggy on the cheek. “So glad you’re here. The place looks wonderful, but not half as gorgeous as you.”

“Right back at you,” Peggy managed, with what she hoped was a genuine smile. 

She knew she was friends with Maria in this universe, and Peggy was starting to get the hang of pretending familiarity with perfect strangers. It still felt awkward at times. They made small talk for a few minutes before Maria quietly pulled Peggy aside.

“So _, thank you,”_ Maria said, in a conspiratorial whisper. 

“For what?”

Maria offered a demure smile, shaking her head. “Keeping my secret, of course. I still haven’t told Howard yet, and he’s been too busy to notice. But I might have to utilize you as my designated drinker every time anyone hands me a glass of champagne. Just chuck it back or toss it in a nearby vase. Whatever you can do to get it out of my hands without causing a scene.”

“Beg pardon?” Peggy offered, utterly confused.

Maria laughed. “I can’t drink, silly. So you’re going to have to help me out like you offered. Deviate attention so I can avoid the whole public mess of announcing my pregnancy through the tabloids because I can’t have any liquor at a Charity Gala.”

“Oh,” Peggy said, then widened her eyes as she caught on. “ _Oh_.” 

Dear lord. Howard Stark was going to be a father. God help them all.

Maria laughed. “Oh, you’re good, Peggy. Bang up job doing the surprised face. You were only the second person I told. Honestly, your acting is good enough to be a spy.”

Peggy offered a tight smile. “Yes, yes. That’s me. Consummate actress.” She paused. “You haven’t told Howard yet?”

“Haven’t found the right time,” she replied, sighing. “I know, I know. I need to tell him or I’ll have to let the baby announce himself to the world in a few months, but I gather Howard will notice a few things different about my body before that.”

Normally Peggy wouldn’t be the type to intrude, but it was clear they were confidants to one another. “Any reason why you’re hesitating?”

“You know Howard. I’m not sure he’s the fathering-type.”

Peggy sighed, then offered, rather demurely. “I wasn’t sure he was the marrying type either and yet here you stand with a – _dear lord_ , look at that rock on your finger.” The diamond was _obscenely_ big. Peggy almost had difficulty looking away from it. “Yes, well,” she managed, clearing her throat, belatedly remembering the ring would have been something Peggy had seen hundreds of times before. “It seems to get bigger every time I look at it.”

Maria frowned. “You don’t think fatherhood will scare Howard?”

“I think it’ll terrify him witless,” Peggy offered, truthfully. “But you have to give him the chance to prove us wrong. Howard does love to prove people wrong.”

“That, indeed, he does,” Maria said, sighing again. “You remember the first time we met? He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Peggy was wondering how best to approach that exact topic. “Remind me again, what did you see in him?”

“Well, you remember how awkwardly cute he was in your apartment? He actually deigned to step into Brooklyn for your house-warming party. Brought enough liquor to get an entire village drunk – and the entire time he wouldn’t stop trying to get my number. He didn’t seem to care that I was your unemployed neighbor. He just wanted to talk to me all night. There was something charming about that.”

“If you insist,” Peggy said, softly amused. 

So, Howard and Maria had met at their Brooklyn apartment because she had been their neighbor. The world worked in mysterious ways.

The conversation slowly drifted back to more neutral topics, and eventually the women found their way back to their partners. “You’ve really done quite the bang-up job here, Peggy,” Howard said to her.

Peggy took a deep breath, looking around at the growing number of people in the room. The place was indeed gorgeously decorated, but it was still half-empty. It was early in the night. She hoped it would fill up soon, and that the New Year could be rung in with a bang.

Steve stepped beside her and took her hand in his, as if sensing her anxiety. “Don’t worry. Everything will go smoothly.”

As soon as he said the words, Peggy was being pulled in a dozen different directions. More people started arriving, even some big names that needed personal greetings. Peggy was surprised to see Jeffry Brandt and Lorraine Tyler again, the dynamic hosts making their way through the red-carpet entrance, even signing an autograph or two as they did. Lorraine looked stunningly gorgeous in a backless gold dress with a plunging neckline. Peggy tried to tell herself that she didn’t care, but every eye turned towards her entrance, even – she noticed – Steve’s. It was silly thing, to still be jealous of Lorraine who’d been nothing but a brief blimp on the radar, but Peggy couldn’t squash the petty feeling. 

She also noticed a few other unexpected faces in the crowd. Chester Phillips, her old boss from her previous life at _Phillips, Pierce, and Associates_. He was accompanied by his wife, and annoyingly enough, Jack Thompson and his date. The firm must have bought out a table for the Gala, but instead of making their way to any designated table, Peggy noticed Phillip’s first stop was to the table where her mother sat. It was unsurprising, of course. Phillips was an old friend of the family.

Peggy decided to make her way to the table too, just to see what Phillips was up to in this reality. She’d been a bit curious about her old firm. It was only natural.

But before she could make it, Jack Thompson cut into her path. “Well, hello beautiful,” he said, smiling that jackass smile. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Lucky me,” Peggy returned, flatly. 

She’d had more than enough of Jack when they’d been colleagues. His sexist attitude was infamous even among New York lawyers, and they’d never been the most progressive group to begin with.

“Now is that any way to talk to a potential donor?” Jack returned. “You’re Peggy Carter, right? The Director of this little cute prom?”

“And you’d be?” Peggy offered, biting her tongue.

“Jack Thompson,” he introduced himself. “Partner at _Phillips, Pierce, and Associates_.”

Peggy froze.

They’d made _Jack_ a partner? Bloody Jack Thompson? He had an overinflated ego barely kept in check by the volume of any given building. They’d promoted _him_? Peggy hadn’t even been offered that in her own world, where she’d handedly beaten him in every quarterly billing, in pulling in six-to-seven figure cases, in pretty much any barometer that could measure a lawyer’s abilities. And, in her absence in this world, they’d given him the partnership. 

Peggy felt her temper flare.

“Oh, sweetie,” her mother called, waving to her. “Do come over and say hello to Chester!”

Peggy had no choice but to plaster on a smile and approach the table. Jack stuck by her side, as if he was welcomed company. “Phillips,” Peggy greeted, managing a less frosty smile. She’d always liked him. “You’re still looking like an old curmudgeon.”

Phillips didn’t laugh, but he offered her a small nod that was his equivalent of a smile. “Peggy Carter. Glad to see you after so long.”

“Oh, it hasn’t been that long, has it?” Deborah said. 

“Ages,” Phillips returned, good-natured. “After I kept trying to recruit her and she kept turning me down, there was only so many rejections I could take.”

“Well,” Deborah said. “You know what they say? Persistence pays off. Maybe you two can get together again, discuss that opportunity once more.”

Peggy’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. In her world, Deborah had hated Peggy’s job at _Phillips, Pierce, and Associates._ It was at least a heated monthly discussion.

“Oh, I think she’s managing all right in her current job,” Phillips said, looking around the place. “This is pretty impressive.”

“Yeah,” Jack offered, from the side. “It’s very pretty.”

Deborah smiled at Phillips. “So just imagine what she could do for your firm, Chester. She’s an absolute gem. I’m sure she could dust off her lawyering skills to help you out.”

“Mother,” Peggy said tightly, forcing a smile. “There’s no need to proposition the man so blatantly. He’s here to enjoy the night.”

“Nonsense,” Deborah said, in that same tone she always got when she had her hooks into something. Stubborn, single-minded, and focused. “You should really think about it, Chester. As a favor to me, even.”

Peggy had enough. “Could you excuse us for a moment?” she offered the men in the crowd, and then pulled her mother to the side. They walked far enough away that Peggy was confident she wouldn’t be overheard. “What was that about?” she demanded.

“What?” Deborah said, defensive. “I’m just looking out for you, sweetie.”

“I already have a job.”

Deborah frowned. “A job, but hardly a career. Be serious, Peggy. You can’t just throw away your degree like this. You passed the bar for a reason, to be a lawyer. Now you do charity like some debutant stay-at-home mother. It can’t be satisfying.”

Peggy stared, incredulous. For all her adult life, Deborah had hounded Peggy over her choice to pursue her career as a lawyer relentlessly, especially since she’d done it to the detriment of pursuing anything else like a family _. A family,_ her mother had always harped, _is the most important thing in a woman’s life._ And now here Peggy was, living out that same idyllic life that her mother had so desired – and Deborah Carter thought her daughter had thrown away her career.

There really was no satisfying this woman. 

Everything Peggy ever did would only be criticized.

It was a revelation, even if painful. Peggy could only stare for a moment longer at the pinched expression on her mother’s face, and then, numbly, turned away. She needed some air. She needed to get out of there before she said or did something she would truly regret.

“Peg?” Howard said a minute later, in a distant voice that Peggy could vaguely recognize as concerned. “You okay? You look pale.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she managed, clearing her throat. She needed her husband. “Have you seen Steve?”

Howard nodded absently. “Yeah, yeah, he was just here a second ago. That blonde anchorwoman was talking his ear off. They must have gone out into the lobby. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Peggy didn’t bother to answer. She simply turned on her heels and left for the hallway, intending to find Steve and – what, she wasn’t precisely sure. Perhaps fall apart in his arms? She needed a good hug in that moment. It wasn’t surprising, what her mother could be like – not after knowing her habits and mannerisms as Peggy did. It still surprisingly hurt, though. She couldn’t even articulate it in words. Peggy had spent so much of life striving to be the best, driven by an innate ambition that probably stemmed from having such a hypercritical mother. All of it, apparently, for nothing. Anything Peggy ever did would always fall short.

It was in a daze that Peggy walked out into the lobby. 

But the sight that greeted her stopped Peggy in her tracks, pulling her out of her daze with a shock.

Lorraine had Steve shoved up against a wall, and her tongue was down his throat. It wasn’t more than a second before Peggy made a sound, a noise of utter surprise, and Lorraine pulled back. Steve looked stunned, red-faced and lips smeared with the soft pink stain of Lorraine’s lipstick. His eyes widened as he noticed Peggy, and then he was leaping apart from Lorraine, as if remembering his senses again.

Peggy found her legs, and in mortification and some sort of stunned rage, turned away. 

“Peggy,” Steve gasped, red-faced. “It isn’t what you think—”

“I don’t think anything, Steve. Not one thing. I do, however, have eyes.”

“No, but she—” he caught up with her, grabbing her by the arm to stop her strides. Peggy yanked her arm free forcefully, whirling around to him with eyes blazing. “Peggy, she cornered me! I swear I—”

“You what?” she demanded, incredulous and outraged. “Became overcome by a woman that weighs a buck ten soaking wet? Let’s not pretend what I saw was anything other than what it was.”

He looked desperate, scrambling for words. “Peggy, I would never—”

“Enough!” she stopped him, eyes stinging. 

God, she was on the verge of crying. Pathetic. Stupid. 

She shook her head. Perhaps this was what she needed. To witness it. Her fairy-tale life for what it was – a sham. A mockery. Peggy was livid enough to see red. She had to clamp down on the urge to shoot something.

“Leave me alone, Steve,” Peggy warned. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me _alone.”_

She must have looked a threatening sight, because Steve looked floored like his whole world had suddenly been turned upside down; he’d only caused it, himself. He stood rigid as if in shock, and she strode away, needing more space than perhaps the whole planet could provide. She was so _stupid._ She’d let herself fall for this life, even when she knew it was a lie. A glimpse of some fake reality. And somehow this fairytale hurt more than her reality ever did, because she had never suspected Steve of being capable of—

She needed to get out of here.

This reality needed to end.

She knew exactly what she had to do. Peggy left the Gala without a glance back. It didn’t matter. This glimpse into another world would soon be over. What happened in some charity event would hardly matter. She hailed a cab and took the fastest route back to the Brooklyn apartment, sitting silent and fuming in the back seat, feeling ridiculous as her mascara ran down her cheeks with furious tears that wouldn’t stop.

When she arrived at her apartment, Peggy tore through the place, looking for Lizzie’s little tricycle. The bell. Angie’s bell. The same one that would summon the Angel back into her life. _“You’ll find you can ring me on that, like a pager,”_ Angie had explained, “ _and I’ll come. But you can only ring me the once.”_

She needed that call now.

She finally found Lizzie’s little red tricycle in the corner closet and pulled it out hastily. The bell was affixed to the top, and Peggy felt ridiculous as she ripped it off the handles and then squeezed the trigger. The bell’s ring was faint, but steady. She pressed the trigger again and again, letting the noise fill the silent apartment.

“Okay, okay, sheesh!” Angie’s voice broke through the relentless ringing. Peggy whirled around to find Angie in the living room. “I’m here already, what’s the emergency—” Angie’s voice broke off, staring at Peggy’s face. “ _Oh,”_ she said, sadly, as if she suddenly knew everything from just one look. “So, this is one of _those_ calls.”

Peggy didn’t know what Angie meant, and she didn’t care. “I want out,” she declared.

“Out?” Angie repeated, again in that sad, knowing tone.

“Out of this life,” Peggy clarified, perhaps needlessly. “Out of this reality. I want to go home. This isn’t my world, and I’m done pretending otherwise.”

“Peggy—”

“No, you said this was a glimpse, right? Well, I’ve glimpsed it, and I’m done now. Whatever lesson you wanted me to learn, check it off. I _demand_ to go home now.”

Angie grimaced. “Damn. Can’t say I wasn’t hoping for you to lean the other way, but it’s gonna be like this, ain’t it?”

Tears streamed down Peggy’s face. “It is,” she offered, stubborn.

Angie nodded. “All right, English. Have it your way. You want your reality back?” She sighed. “You’ve got it.”

#


	3. Chapter 3

Peggy carried her overnight bag into the cheap hotel room and flopped it down by the door. The place left a lot to be desired. Yet, the fact remained she was surprised there were any rooms available in New York City on New Year’s Eve, when the city tended to attract more tourists than any other standard holiday weekend. She’d been lucky to book it at the last minute, but she frowned as the noise of partygoers outside breached the thin walls. At least the place looked clean. She could manage the rest for the night.

She had _only_ the night to deal with it, here. Angie had been clear enough. She only had to fall asleep and Peggy would awake in her own world, her own reality, one where Steve Rogers was just a ghost from her long-forgotten past. Even as she reminded herself it was for the best, even as the memory of Lorraine’s tongue down his throat played rampantly through her mind, Peggy couldn’t tamp down the flutter of nerves in her stomach.

She toed off her heels and sat down, staring at herself in the vanity mirror, her hair still in meticulous curls, most of her make-up remaining perfectly in place except for the smudge of eyeliner and mascara that had been rubbed off. Peggy reached for her bag, ignoring the phone she’d put on silent because of the continuous barrage of uninterrupted messages and missed calls from Steve. She hoped that she had remembered all her toiletries in her rush to leave the apartment. She had packed so quickly, and only with the intentions of lasting a night. She had most of the essentials, but in her haste she realized she had grabbed one of Steve’s nightshirts rather than her own. With a sigh, she cleaned herself up and changed into the overly large t-shirt that engulfed her down to the knees. She stubbornly ignored the fact that it smelled of his familiar scent. Peggy took the care to hang up the red gown in the closet on a set of wooden hangers. She didn’t know why she took the time or effort. She would be gone in the morning.

She tried lying down for a while, but her body was too keyed up with emotions. All she had to do was fall asleep, but it was nearly impossible. Her mind raced with the implications of the next day. Returning to her world after being in this one for so many days would probably take adjustment. Her mind tripped over all the possibilities until her head was full of _what-ifs_ and worst-case scenarios, but even if she’d had the fortitude to calm down, outside New York City was celebrating the impending New Year and all it promised with noisy, boisterous enthusiasm. To Peggy, the only thing promised was a return to normalcy. To her work, and her upmarket apartment, to her familiar colleagues and friends. 

Despite herself and all she’d resolved to do, she knew there were things that she would miss about this world. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought of Lizzie, but she couldn’t afford to think about the six-year-old child she would never see again; Peggy just _couldn’t._ The thought of a child had been such a foreign concept a week ago, but now she knew what it was like to stare at a small face that held features similar to Peggy's own. She knew how bright and intelligent Lizzie could be; how infectious her laugh was. It was terrifying to think she’d never hear that sound again.

Nor did she dwell on Sarah Rogers, who had long since passed away in her own world. The woman was a certified saint and a wonder of a grandmother. If only Peggy’s own mother had been such a blessing, but Peggy refused to focus on that. 

She could also admit to herself she would be saddened not to see Mr. Jarvis or Maria Stark again, and a few of the other friends she had made here.

She tried not to think of Steve at all. She tried, and spectacularly failed. After a long bout of restless stirring, Peggy got up from the bed. She reached for the bottles of water in the mini-fridge, and then pulled out the small little bottles of liquor instead – she drank one mini-bottle and opened a second and then a third. She washed it down with a bag of M&Ms and stale potato chips. She was finishing off the meager dinner when there was a knock at the door.

“Peggy,” Steve’s unmistakable voice carried through the door. He sounded tired, his voice hoarse and low. “Peg, I know you’re in there. Open up.”

Peggy grimaced, debating her options as her heart lodged up in her throat. She briefly entertained ignoring it, but he rapped harder on the door and continued to call out for her. She stood up, catching her reflection in the mirror, free of makeup and any of the other adorations that she had started the night with, and braced herself with a long breath.

“Peg, _please_ , just open the door. Let me explain.”

__

She moved towards the door, pressing a hand flat against the surface but refusing to open it. “How did you find me? Track my credit card purchases?”

__

There was a pause. “Worse,” he admitted, sighing. “Howard tracked your phone.”

__

Bloody hell. The next time she saw Howard, she was socking him in the jaw. It mattered little to her in that moment that it would likely be another universe’s version of him. 

__

“Peggy,” he continued to plead. “Just let me in—”

__

“So you can explain why you were kissing a blonde anchorwoman?” Peggy interrupted, coldly. “I think I can manage to connect the dots for myself.”

__

“I’m not leaving,” came the stubborn answer from the other side of the door, firm. “I’ll stand outside this door all night long if I have to. You have to come out sometime, Peg.”

__

If he only knew her true means of escape. 

__

But even she knew the chances of Steve letting up at all for the night, enough for her to manage to fall asleep, was next to nothing. She continued the internal struggle for a moment, before ultimately and angrily pulling the chain off the hook. She swung open the door to find Steve bracing an arm against the doorframe, looking genuinely surprised that she had opened the door. He seemed disheveled despite still adorning the remnants of his tuxedo suit; his jacket was gone, as was his bowtie and cufflinks. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and he had a button or two at the collar of his shirt undone. His hair had seen better days, messy as if he had constantly been running his hands through it in frustration. He looked haggard, which Peggy found viciously pleasing.

__

He barged into the room without waiting for an invitation, not that Peggy had expected otherwise. 

__

Pressing his lips together, he waited a moment then said, “We need to talk, Peggy. I swear what you saw was an uninvited thing. If you check your phone, you’ll see Howard forwarded you footage from the surveillance camera in the banquet hallway. Peg, you have to believe me. She cornered me and—”

__

“I really don’t want to hear excuses right now—”

__

“You have to listen, Peg. I’m _begging_ you to just stop for a minute and—”

__

“I don’t have to do a damn thing,” she threatened.

__

He exhaled hard, looking as desperate as a man drowning. “I know. Okay, I _know_ I fucked up. I know I should have pushed her off me or not even let her get that close. She caught me off-guard, okay? I didn’t—I would _never_ do that to you, Peg. You have to believe me.”

__

“Steve,” she told him, holding up a hand to stop him. She shook her head. “It doesn’t even matter.”

__

The tension in his shoulders was heavy-set, and incredulous. “How can it not matter?”

__

Because tomorrow when the morning rose, she wouldn’t be here.

__

But she couldn’t, of course, admit that to him.

__

Or maybe, _fuck it._ She could. What did she have to lose?

__

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said at last, exasperated by all the tiptoeing and lies. 

__

She felt like a dam was breaking loose, crumbling infrastructure dropping by boulders each weighing a ton. She was tired and wound up at the same time. It didn’t matter. None of this mattered in the least come morning. She could tell the truth now, and it’d make little difference. The only real difference it could make is setting her free from any guilt, because Steve perhaps wasn’t the only one that had to own up to some harsh truths. 

__

“I’m not who you think I am,” she told him.

__

He blinked. “What?”

__

“I’m not your wife, Steve.”

__

Steve blanched as if she’d struck him with the force of a hammer. “You don’t mean that. I know that the kiss was wrong, it should never have happened, but you can’t be talking about divorce—”

__

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Peggy spat out. “No, Steve. You don’t understand. I was _never_ your wife.”

__

He stared at her, confused.

__

She sighed. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I haven’t been your wife for some time.”

__

Steve seemed too rattled and thrown to form words. His shoulders heaved a little as he took a long breath, and she realized she was making no sense at all. How could she explain this? None of it would make sense.

__

“The woman you’ve known for the last few years?” she told him, bluntly. “That isn’t me. I am not your wife. I am not a mother. I am not a director of some non-profit organization. That’s someone else.”

__

For a long moment, Steve digested that, incredulous. 

__

“I’m telling the truth, Steve – and no, before you ask, I’m not talking some sort of metaphorical mid-life crisis type of truth. I’m talking reality. I’m talking facts. I am not your wife.”

__

When he finally opened his mouth, he asked, not unkindly, “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

__

She snorted, then shook her head. “Not nearly enough, I assure you.”

__

“Then who are you, if not Peggy Carter?”

__

“I’m Peggy Carter,” she returned. “I’m just not _your_ Peggy Carter.”

__

He lifted a hand in some helpless little gesture, meant to mean everything and nothing. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

__

How could he? She was living it, and she barely understood.

__

He stared at her. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?”

__

“Do you imagine I would be in a joking mood right now?”

__

That set him back on his heels for a bit. “What,” he began, mouth working slowly to catch up with her words. “How long… when did you—”

__

“Since Christmas,” she answered, bluntly.

__

He paused, piecing something together in his head. “Since you hit your head?”

__

She groaned, turning away. “This isn’t a head trauma.”

__

“I’m sorry, Peg. You got me by the shorthairs and I honestly don’t know what to think. What you’re saying is—”

__

“I broke up with you, Steve,” she cut him off. “Right after my brother died seven years ago.” This time, the bitterness of her laugh required no clarification. “And we never got back together.” 

__

There was a tension hanging in the air now, twisted and different from before. He wasn’t moving, barely even breathed. He must have known, in some way, to take her seriously. She thought about if the situation had been reversed, about what it would have taken her to believe such a preposterous story. Angie had to prove it with magic and, basically, voodoo. Peggy couldn’t afford anything similar. She just had her words, and she needed him to understand the gravity of it, no matter how crazy it sounded.

__

So, she continued, “You stayed in the military. You’re _still_ career military, as far as I know. And for few years now I’ve been working at _Phillips, Pierce, and Associates_ , with aspirations of being a partner there one day. My mother, god bless her, hounds me every month about my lack of love life and family because my last boyfriend was over three years ago, an ill-advised relationship with a co-worker named Daniel. I rent a flat in Manhattan that is twice the size of your Brooklyn apartment. And your apartment, may I add, is one that I had not stepped foot into until one week ago. I woke up on Christmas morning in this world that is very much not my own, Steve.”

__

She paused there, running out of steam, staring at his face, and she didn't think he could take much more of this. But she owed him the truth, and it was strangely freeing, even while he stared at her in disbelief, to admit all this. Whatever else happened, whatever else was in store for her, she’d been honest with herself and with him. And she realized just as abruptly that she couldn’t hold him accountable to vows he’d never said to her in the first place. If anyone had been violating the vows he’d taken – vows that she knew Steve would always hold sacred, any damn kiss with Lorraine be damned – it was Peggy.

__

Now that she had admitted it, all the fight went out of her, and she sagged, dropping heavily onto the mattress, emotionally and physically drained. 

__

She was not the woman that had married Steve. But god, even after everything that had happened, even after the calamity of tonight, she would have given _anything_ to claim that she was. Because she knew it, didn’t she? Even without the benefit of any recording that Howard could offer to prove his innocence, even without Steve’s explanation. The idea of Steve cheating on her, in any world, was such an impossibility that she would have known it to be false, had she just thought about it for one logical moment. Logic hadn’t played a factor in her thoughts tonight. She had been in a free fall of emotions since her fight with her mother, and Peggy Carter could be an impulsive woman when her emotions took control.

__

But she knew, in the depths of her heart, Steve would never kiss another woman willingly, would never cheat on her. He loved too deeply, and he was far too good of a man to stoop so low as to cheat. She knew that, even if she knew very little else about this world or any other. There was also another fact she could admit to herself.

__

She was still madly in love with Steve. 

__

She wondered if she had ever stopped loving him, because falling into this life together with him for the last week should have been more difficult otherwise. It should have been more jolting. She wished she could kiss him and reclaim him as hers, even if he very clearly _wasn’t._ But he looked at her like she had the ability to rule his entire world, and she knew, if she closed the gap between them, if she kissed him, he’d kiss her back without hesitation. Despite everything she’d just said, he still thought of himself as hers, and the idea that she didn’t consider it the same way would make him act reckless. Maybe he would think this whole strange spiel was all just her still being angry about Lorraine? And when Steve Rogers became desperate, he always became stubbornly single-minded in his focus, a man driven to prove his point. 

__

If she kissed him, she knew how the rest of the night would play out. He’d be more than eager to press any advantage, press her back until they fell into bed together and lost themselves in each other. And she wanted it, too, more than anything else. That was what made this so scary and dangerous, because she knew better. 

__

But she could picture the weight of him above her, pushing her heavily onto the mattress. She’d spread her legs, trace the hard lines of his body with hers, fingers clutching against the coverlet while he pushed into her with maddening strokes; Steve murmuring her name, over and over again, conquering her kissed-bruised mouth, charting kisses along her neck and chest with increasing possessiveness. Right now, with their emotions running so high, it would be greedy, and passionate, and she knew they’d need all night long to make love several times over, to let the desperate need run its course through them. 

__

But Steve wasn’t the only one that held himself to a high standard of fidelity. 

__

She had told him the truth, but he couldn’t grasp it. And no amount of convincing herself to pretend, even for a night, even if she wanted it, even if she desperately desired him more than anything else, would ever make that right. 

__

“Tonight’s the last night I’m here,” she told him. “Tomorrow when I wake up, I’ll be back where I’m supposed to be. I imagine your Peggy will back with you, too. The world order returned to itself.”

__

He stared at her. “You’re serious.”

__

This time, it wasn’t a question.

__

“I’m not _her_ , Steve.”

__

#

__

Steve was quiet for a very, very long time. 

__

Long enough that she felt her emotions calm down a little. She told him a little more, about Angie, about what was to come in the morning when she woke up; she even told him a little bit more about her life back home. But eventually, it became too much, and the silence grew between them. She sat on the edge of the bed, feeling like she’d run a marathon. Despite the exhaustion, she doubted she’d sleep anytime soon, and Angie had pressed that that was the entire point of tonight. To fall asleep here, and then wake up in her own world. The deal had already been sealed, and there was no going back.

__

“Do you want to stay the night here?” Steve asked, tentatively.

__

She still didn’t know what he was thinking, but she knew he was treading cautiously. She nodded, so he sat down carefully next to her, but he didn’t leave room like she half-expected him to. Pressed thigh-to-thigh, shoulder-to-shoulder, he seemed determined to keep her close despite whatever other reservations he had. 

__

She stared at him, throat still tight with emotion. Her hands weren’t trembling, but it felt like a near thing. Outside, she could hear the crowds grow louder in excitement as midnight approached. She had no idea what was going on with the fundraiser; Peggy had been in charge of the midnight call, and without her there, without Steve, she suspected Jarvis was running things. He’d probably put Howard in charge of ending the party with the flare it needed. She should probably ask Steve about it, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice the question.

__

Her voice was faint in that darkened room. “You have nothing to say after what I’ve just told you?”

__

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “Peg, I’m just processing. It’s a lot to take in. You said… you said we broke up and never got back together?”

__

She nodded. “Seven years ago.”

__

“But we still dated?”

__

“For nearly a decade. From what I can gather, everything up till our breakup was the same. Things diverged after that. And I know this sounds insane, and I know you think I’m the same woman you married—”

__

“Actually,” he cut in, surprisingly. “It would explain a lot.”

__

She paused, staring at him.

__

“No offense,” he went on to say, almost too quickly. “You’re… _you._ You’re still Peggy Carter, clearly. I don’t know much of what else you’re talking about, but I do know that. I also know… well, you haven’t been _entirely_ yourself lately.”

__

She smiled to herself, shaking her head. “And here I thought I was managing all right.”

__

He huffed a breath and searched her face. When she didn’t appear offended, he continued, “I just noticed things. Things that didn’t add up. The way you are with Lizzie. Things you forgot that you should know. The way you’re different, even with me.”

__

“With you?” 

__

He got a little red in the face, and she knew immediately what he meant. “Yeah, well. It would explain why you’ve been pulling back from me lately. Physically, I mean.”

__

“So, you believe me?”

__

He paused, too heavily for her to believe any affirmative answer to the question. “Like I said, it’s a lot to process,” he said carefully. “But I do believe _you_ believe this, which explains a lot.”

__

Well, that was something. Probably the most she could hope for, tonight. She expelled a harsh breath, a little surprised, and then yet again, not surprised at all. Somehow, Steve managed to surpass all her expectations, even in these strangest of circumstances they found themselves in.

__

“In your world,” he said, once again very carefully, “we lost touch?”

__

She nodded. “After we broke up, yes. I have no idea what he’s doing, although I do know he’s in New York right now. At least temporarily. I imagine he’ll be shipping back out again soon. He’s a Captain, I believe.”

__

He frowned. “So, he’s still in the military?”

__

“Yeah, surely that’s not surprising? You wanted a career in it.”

__

“I did, yeah. I guess a lot has changed for me in the last seven years. I couldn’t imagine still being with the Army.”

__

“Yes, well,” she said, at a loss as to what to add.

__

“What else?”

__

“What do you mean, what else?”

__

“What else is different?”

__

Peggy stared, overwhelmed by the question. God, there was so much different. Aside from their jobs and Lizzie, there was Maria Stark, and – “Your mother,” she admitted, faintly, lips pressed together into a flat painful line. “I’m so sorry, Steve. She… she didn’t survive the heart attack six years back.”

__

Steve’s eyes widened a bit, struck by her words. She knew he was quickly doing the calculation, realizing that because Peggy hadn’t been a part of his life back then, the implication was his mother passed away without any assistance to help her get the immediate medical attention she had needed. Peggy wasn’t sure how to convey condolences on the idea of a parent passing away in an alternate reality. The entire conversation defied any wisdom or convention. It was surreal.

__

“Jesus,” Steve said, as he took an agonizing breath. “I feel sorry for this guy. No mom, no _you_. No child. Just his career.”

__

“I’m sure there’s more to his life than just that. I have no idea if he’s moved on, found someone else to share his life with—”

__

“No,” Steve said, with some finality. He sounded certain of this, even if everything else about this conversation was throwing him off. “He wouldn’t.”

__

She frowned. “You have no way of knowing that, Steve.”

__

But he looked at her steadily, confidently, and then shrugged. “I’m sure he tried, even if half-heartedly. Set ups, blind dates. Maybe even dated someone or another. But I know how I felt about you, even when we were in college. I know how I felt about you from the moment we met. You were _it_ for me, Peg. My one shot in seven billion. A decade apart wouldn’t change that. A hundred years apart wouldn’t change that.”

__

Her throat closed off. “You don’t know—”

__

“I think I do,” he countered, again with that soft conviction. “You were the one that broke up with me, remember? I never had any doubts about us. I bet you all the money in my pocket, this poor idiot still carries a picture of you around in his compass, just like I always did on missions.”

__

She shook her head, unwilling to believe that. She remembered the compass. She doubted that, in her world, Steve still had it. It had been too long. Too many years. 

__

She was tired, in every way imaginable, so she scooted back into bed until she could stretch out onto the mattress. She got under the covers, but she could feel the presence of Steve at her back. After a long stretch of silence, Steve eventually rose and stood over her. His eyes held a question, and after a beat Peggy merely nodded. Slowly, she shifted aside to allow space. Steve quietly removed his shirt and undershirt, and shucked his pants, socks, and shoes; that left him clad only in his boxers, and the sight tightened a low aching want in her belly, but she stubbornly ignored it. He took his place alongside her, stretching out. They spent a few moments rearranging him behind Peggy. He tucked an arm around her waist, bringing their bodies front to back. His breath was steady against her neck, and he smelt like her favorite cologne of his. This should have felt off, given everything, but it didn’t. It felt safe, familiar, and too much like home. 

__

His voice was a whisper, “So, how does this work? You go to sleep, and it’s a blink of an eye for you between realities?”

__

“I suppose,” Peggy offered. 

__

She really didn’t know, but she wondered if this was an academic question for him, or if he really believed her. If he had any sense of the truth in her story. He could have been asking questions just to placate her.

__

He was quiet for a long while. “What do you plan to do when you make it back there?”

__

The thought was maddening, and terrifying. “I don’t know.”

__

“So, then, why do you think you were sent here?”

__

She almost rolled her eyes. “Something about second chances, I suppose.”

__

He pressed his hand firmly to hers, squeezing, and stayed quiet. She wanted to say something, maybe even a joke to lighten the mood, but she couldn’t manage to break the silence. The moment stood heavy between them, and then she knew the New Year’s had hit, because the sounds of fireworks reverberated through the room. The lights flashing from the explosions outside danced across the shadows in the room, through the light curtains of their window. One after another, in a spectacularly long parade of vibrant fireworks that stretched out into lingering minutes. Neither of them moved from the mattress to watch. They were too secure in their place on the bed.

__

He held onto her tightly, long after the fireworks ended. 

__

“I love you,” he said. “You know that, right?”

__

She smiled. “I know.” After a beat, she admitted, “I love you, too.”

__

Then, there was just silence. No more questions. No more talking. The need for sleep eventually started to creep over her in the early hours of the breaking day, but he didn’t move from his spot and neither did she. She fought the coming dawn with every ounce of her, trying to memorize the feel of his body pressed against hers, trying to remember exactly what it felt like to hear him say words of love. She wanted to stay here as long as she could, but even with all her concentration, all her conviction, the warmth and security of his embrace lulled her into a comfort. Into peace. 

__

She fell asleep without ever realizing it.

__

#

__


	4. Chapter 4

Steve Rogers woke up very early on Christmas morning. The day was still dark and quiet, the sort of quiet he'd remembered from his childhood as being peaceful and relaxed. He had no particular plans for the day. Going by his mother’s grave, maybe swinging by Sam’s place for dinner. He hadn’t really filled his leave with a lot of plans, so he had no reason to get out of bed so early. He just couldn’t help it. Years of military service had ingrained in him a need to rise with the crack of dawn.

However, whatever paltry plans he had for the day were derailed when he was making his morning coffee. He switched on the TV to the morning news. Lorraine Tyler was on set, talking about some woman that had saved a diner full of patrons during a robbery on Christmas Eve; Steve hadn’t really been paying attention until he saw the unmistakable photo of his ex-fiancé at the top corner of his TV. He stopped, gaping at a grainy still footage of Peggy Carter, and then quickly scrambled to raise the volume on the TV.

Lorraine explained, _“Witnesses say this London-born lawyer named Margaret Carter, whom some are calling a local hero, had a dramatic moment when a man had her in the cross-hairs of his firearm during the robbery. However, she never flinched. She managed not only to disarm the man, but also had him tied in ropes by the time the authorities showed up. The incident took place late last night, on Christmas Eve.”_

_“I really didn’t anticipate this woman being able to take down a man twice her size like that,”_ bystander Jemma Simmons said, sounding awed. “ _She was like a fierce avenging angel_.”

The surveillance video obtained showed the take-down, and Steve could only stare, watching as Peggy resourcefully used a plastic tray to fling against the robber, knocking the gun off its aim for a single moment. That was all it took for Peggy to take the man down: first, with a knee to the stomach; second, with some knuckles to the face; and then third, with a leg-sweep that had the man toppling over to the ground to the sounds of the crowd cheering. It all happened in quick succession and was over in the matter of seconds. 

_“We were all stunned,”_ Simmons continued. _“She saved all our lives.”_

 _“We tried to get a comment from the woman of the hour,”_ Lorraine continued, smiling and shrugging. _“But it seems she’s a modest lady and isn’t taking interviews. However, let me say, I’d love to personally invite her onto our show if she ever wants to chat. Something tells me this formidable lady isn’t one to mess with!”_

The news segment quickly continued on, but Steve stood there, coffee cup forgotten in his hands, just staring. He hadn’t seen or heard from Peggy in seven years, and it was crazy – no, _surreal_ , to see her on television. He felt like he’d been hit in the stomach and had forgotten how to breathe. The segment hadn’t mentioned anything about whether she’d been hurt during the incident, and from what he’d seen of the footage, it didn’t seem like she had. He knew she was made of tough stuff. Still, the next hour passed by slowly as he ran the footage again over and over in his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It was the second blast from the past that Steve had had in a handful of days. The other day, he’d run into Howard at the airport. Now, Peggy was popping up on the news. He scrubbed a hand over his face and wondered if the universe was trying to tell him something. 

He debated with himself all morning on what to do, running errands and dropping off a bouquet of white calla lilies at his mother’s tombstone. He finally succumbed to his curiosity when he dialed the number Howard had recently provided him. On the third ring, Howard’s voice came on, sounding groggy, despite it being well into the afternoon. “This better be a tall leggy blonde calling,” he greeted grumpily.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Merry Christmas to you too, Howard.”

“Steve?” he sounded surprised. “Well, I wasn’t expecting a call this quick. What happened, buddy? Our airport run-in the other day remind you of all the good times we had?”

“Something like that,” Steve returned. “Have you spoken to Peggy today?”

Howard paused, and Steve could hear him getting up from bed. “Not since last night. We had dinner. Why?”

“She was just on the news. Apparently thwarting a robbery.”

Howard huffed a laugh, and then paused. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?”

Steve wondered what would ever make Howard think he’d joke about something like that. “Can you just… check on her? And, um,” he paused awkwardly, “keep me in the loop, if you don’t mind?”

Howard sighed. “Still hung up on her, eh?”

Steve ignored this. “And if you could not mention this to her, that’d be great too.”

There was a grunt on the other end. “For old time’s sake, of course. Honestly, pal, I’m missing our old comradery. We used to be good friends, you and I. I know when you and Peggy broke up, it became awkward, but I really do miss the old days.”

“I know, Howard. Me, too.” Seeing him the prior day had brought up some good memories, despite the accompanying painful reminders of his time with Peggy. “We should hang out more often.”

“How about we make that a deal rather than a promise? How’s tomorrow night working out for you?”

Steve hesitated. “I don’t know—”

“What? Got plans?”

“Actually, yeah. Drinks with some friends.”

“Sounds horrible,” Howard said, pointedly. 

Steve smiled. “It’s slumming it in a Brooklyn bar,” he warned. “Hardly up to your usual Stark standards these days. I saw you on the cover of _Forbes_ last month.”

Howard snorted. “And you should know that has not dulled my taste for good beer and better company. Barnes still hanging around with you?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s a small crowd. Some people from my building, old friends. They’re a good bunch.”

“Sounds like a night. Text me the address. I’ll try to swing by. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even invite a certain brunette—”

“Don’t,” Steve cut in. “I’m serious, Howard. Don’t drag Peggy into this. She and I – we…” he paused. He had no idea how to describe it, other than with a simple fact. “We’re in the past.”

There was another lengthy pause. “And still, I get woken up at the crack of dawn because you’re worried about her?”

“It’s past noon,” Steve corrected, ignoring the rest.

“Alright, alright, you have my word as a gentleman. I will not tell Peggy about tomorrow—”

“Or that I called,” Steve added.

“Or that you called and checked up on her like a mother hen.”

He sighed. “See you tomorrow, Howard.”

He hung up. Before evening fell, he tried to dispatch some restless energy by going for a run, but even when he returned a few hours later, sweat-soaked and body dehydrated, his mind didn’t feel any more at ease. It had been a strange start to the morning, and he felt the effects linger throughout the day. 

Needing something to occupy his time, he decided to finally finish unpacking his things. His stuff was mostly in boxes, as he had only arrived back in the city a few days ago. He had a few months off on leave before he knew he’d be called back overseas. He didn’t know for how long. The time for re-upping his commitment contract with the Army was around the corner, and he was already getting pressure from his higher ups to sign back on. If he didn’t, he’d be out of the Army within the year. He'd understood for some time that work wasn’t as appealing to him as it was before. And, to his credit, he knew giving himself over to an unending war wasn’t the healthiest option he could choose. In his line of his work, he’d been at it longer than most, and he’d used up more than his nine lives. But he also didn’t know what he’d do with himself if he wasn’t with the Special Forces. 

Going through the boxes, he set aside clothes for the next few days, then systematically worked his way through the rest. Some clothes got folded, others tossed into a bin marked _donation_ , and he was finally making headway with clearing out all his suitcases when he came across his army-standard issue duffle-bag; he knew that it contained, among other things, a load of laundry, one autobiographical book, and a well-worn compass. Because his thoughts had not drifted far from one thing the entire day, he had to brace himself with a deep breath before he slid open the lid. 

Peggy's picture was still there, mounted to the inside of the top cover, as it had been since he’d bought the compass nearly fifteen years back. Despite their breakup, he’d never had the courage to remove her picture. Bucky had teased him about it for a while, and then nudged him a little more pointedly in concern when Steve had kept the item on his person even years later. It wasn’t normal, hanging onto it like this. Not after such an abrupt and painful break-up. Steve knew that. But he had no desire to remove the picture from the lid, and the compass had become a good luck charm for him on missions. 

But deep down, he knew it was more than just superstition that made him hold on to the item.

He closed the lid and set it on the mantle of his fireplace, and walked away. 

#

The following night, Steve found himself nursing a stiff drink after being suckered into joining a game of poker around their corner table. The bar was dimly lit and smoky. Natasha and Sam were currently shit-talking each other, and it was Bucky’s play next, but Bucky was currently at the bar chatting up Steve’s neighbor, Maria Carbonell. Bucky had been chasing her skirt for weeks now, and Steve wondered when he’d finally get the memo that she wasn’t interested. 

“Bucky,” Sam hollered, and reached across and tossed Bucky’s cards down at the center. “You’re folding!”

Bucky glared viciously, and then went right back to talking to Maria.

Steve threw in another chip reluctantly, knowing he’d likely lose the hand. He'd only relented and agreed to play considering he'd already made the rounds and had nursed two drinks more than he’d originally set out to. As best he could tell, Howard wasn’t showing up, and Steve really wasn’t surprised. From what he remembered, Howard tended to be fast and loose with his social calendar. Still, Steve wouldn’t lie. He’d been hoping to get an update from Howard about Peggy. He was sure she was all right, but confirmation was always nice.

It was several minutes into his third losing hand that he got the text. _“Sorry, pal. Turns out my word as a gentleman doesn’t mean as much as I hoped. Good news, though. She seemed pleased you had asked about her_.”

Steve stared at the text for a long moment with a feeling of blooming anxiety, long enough for the others at the table to notice. “What’s up?” Natasha asked, straining her neck to look at his phone; he ignored the bit where she also surreptitiously snuck a glance at his cards. “That doesn’t look like the face of a man that just got a booty call.”

Steve threw his hand down, folding. “Nothing, just—” he sighed. He was going to kill Howard. “I have to make a call.”

He got up from the table so quickly his chair squeaked against the floor. He was dialing Howard’s number before he even made it out of the room, choosing to have his conversation outside in the cold rather than risk his friends overhearing. They could be a nosy bunch, and if Bucky heard one word about anything to do with Peggy, Steve knew he’d be getting a lecture before the end of the night about ‘ _moving on’_ and ‘ _things being in the past.’_

The phone continued to ring, unanswered. “Damnit, Howard, answer the damn phone,” Steve muttered.

He was about the hang up rather than leave an irritated voicemail, when he turned around and bumped into someone. The collision was soft, but Steve was so out of it he dropped his phone on the pavement. He bent to pick it up automatically, apologizing the entire way, and heard the answer before he even looked up.

“No need to apologize,” came a familiar feminine voice, and Steve froze, half bent at the waist, fingers brushing the phone.

He looked up, and sure enough, there was Peggy Carter. 

Howard Stark was next to her, but Steve hardly noticed. He felt bowled over. Peggy was bundled up in a thick double-breasted coat, sharp high heels, and her lips were painted that same vivid red that he always dredged up in his memories. Her hair was loose and in soft curls at her shoulders, flyaway hairs swirling softly in the wind. She brushed aside a stray strand, offering Steve a smile as he gaped up at her. She looked—wonderful. 

“Surprise,” Howard offered, with an awkward laugh. “Guess who decided to crash the party?”

“I hope that’s all right,” Peggy said, while Steve finally remembered to close his hanging up mouth and stood up. "I was in the neighborhood," she said, smiling uneasily. "It seemed rude not to drop by."

“Yeah, no,” Steve said, swallowing. He tried to recover, starting to move forward, then stopped, because he wasn’t sure how to greet her. A handshake seemed silly, a hug perhaps too much, which would certainly put a kiss to the cheek out of the realm of appropriate. “It’s—uh, it’s great to see you. You look—great.”

Peggy, on the other hand, her sharp gaze had never flinched from his face. “You do, too.”

Steve wondered about that. There were twin blue shadows along the skin under his eyes, the way he got when he wasn’t sleeping well. He’d wished he’d shaved, or at least trimmed his beard. 

Howard cleared his throat. “Oh look, I see Barnes inside. I’ll go say hello.” 

And Howard left so quickly Steve would have almost found it comical, had he been paying remote attention to anything else besides Peggy.

Then they were just standing there, the two of them, outside in the bitter cold, staring at each other. He still wasn’t sure this wasn’t some sort of surreal dream, but he was starting to recover his wits. “I saw you on the TV the other day,” he offered. Then internally winced, because it sounded lame.

Peggy, too, grimaced a little in embarrassment. “It’s been an insane few days.”

“I can imagine. You still got a killer left hook, I see.”

She laughed softly at that, before falling silent again. Eventually, she said, “You’re in town for a while?”

“Few months. Haven’t got my next posting yet, but I figured I’d crash back here in the meantime.”

“No place like home,” Peggy acknowledged.

“What about you? I know you were all over the globe for a while, but it sounds like you’ve made New York your official residence again?”

“Yeah, my firm had me stationed a few different places. Such is the nature of multijurisdictional law. But New York always seemed to be where I land my feet.”

He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He knew the feeling.

"I— uh," she said, "I hope I’m not intruding on your night. Howard mentioned that you called, and it seemed silly to let him play the middleman when we’re all adults. I didn’t mean to ambush you—”

“You didn’t,” he said, quickly. 

She gave him a tight smile and nodded towards the entrance of the bar. “Shall we?”

Oh, yeah. It was too cold outside for them to continue the conversation there. He reached for the door before she could get to it, holding it open for her. As she brushed by him, he caught a familiar scent of her favorite perfume, surprised to find she hadn’t changed it after all these years. He also noted she didn’t have on a ring, and he knew she hadn’t changed her name because all her publications still bore than same familiar surname. Her Facebook profile didn’t mention a relationship status, either. It wasn’t stalking. He’d just been… curious, after seeing her on the news. 

He noticed Howard had invited himself to the bar, where Bucky and Maria stood talking. Steve was vaguely aware when Bucky idly looked up, looked back down at Maria, and then did a double-take when he realized Peggy was walking next to him. The others playing poker stopped to stare because Steve bumped into a barstool on his way towards them. Jesus, he felt like he was fifteen again, utterly hopeless, but the presence of Peggy was so unexpected. He felt like his wits needed a moment to catch up with the events. 

It wasn't long before Peggy was halfway into a new drink, as Natasha, Sam, and Maria made introductions facilitated by Bucky. Steve was aware he hadn’t said much. It was probably better than saying something foolish. The entire group quickly feel into some discussion about their holidays, and Steve just stood there, quietly at the side, just behind Peggy, trying to marshal his words together. Peggy kept glancing furtively at him with a look he couldn’t decipher. He used to be able to read all her looks – angry, indignant, indulgent, humorous, romantic – but he couldn’t place this one. There was anxiety, maybe, which made Steve feel a little better about the situation because at least he wasn’t the only one feeling out of his depth, but mostly there was something else hidden in her gaze that he couldn’t recognize. 

After a while, Bucky pulled Steve aside to the corridor near the bathroom. “What the hell?” Bucky glared. “Why didn’t you tell me you got in touch with—”

“I didn’t,” Steve urged back, in the same intense whisper. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I mean, I _wasn’t_. I saw her on the news.”

“The news?”

He didn’t feel like getting into it right now, and he thought he could feel Peggy’s attention on them. When he looked back at the bar, however, Peggy appeared engaged in some deep conversation with Howard and Maria – and it looked like Howard had wasted no time in trying to charm Maria. Steve rather thought it was a better use of Howard’s time than if he had tried anything with Natasha. The thought made him wince, but then he found himself distracted by Peggy again.

“Steve?” Bucky said, in a tone.

Steve reigned in his sigh. “What?”

“Oh, good. You _can_ talk. I had my doubts for a second there. You’ve been strangely non-verbal in the presence of your ex-fiancé.”

“Look, it’s just—Buck, I’m a little thrown, all right?” 

Steve looked over at the bar, and watched Peggy tuck a windblown hair behind her ear. 

Bucky clamped a hand over Steve’s shoulder, drawing back his attention. “Don’t do this to yourself, Steve. It took you _years_ to get over her. If you ever did.”

Steve struggled to find his words. “I don’t—this isn’t like that.”

Bucky didn’t look remotely convinced. Before he could say anything, though, Peggy lifted to her feet and pulled off her coat. Underneath, she had on a fitted red dress that could have brought an entire room to a halt; it went down to her knees and hugged every one of her curves, with a very flattering neckline. To Steve, it felt like all the oxygen in the bar had been sucked dry. It was exactly the type of dress that he used to dream about, years ago, when he still let himself fantasize about a reunion with Peggy. If he had to pick a dress, any color, any cut, it would have been just like this one. _Jesus._

Bucky exhaled hard on a laugh. “Steve, she wouldn’t be wearing a dress like that if it wasn’t just a _little_ like that.” 

Steve ignored this, but silently he wondered if maybe Bucky didn’t have a point. She had shown up tonight, out of the blue. She knew she’d be seeing Steve after so many years. A small seed of something too much like anticipation kernelled inside Steve, but he tried to shove it aside. It had been too long for Peggy, and it wouldn’t be the first time Bucky was reading too much into something. 

By the time they’d made it back across to the bar, Natasha had invited both Howard and Peggy to the poker game. “You want to be careful,” Bucky warned cheekily. “If I recall correctly, Peggy’s a shark at this game.”

“And if I recall correctly,” Peggy retorted, “you still owe me a hundred from the last time we played poker.”

Bucky flashed a smirk. “I think your memories are a little faulty there, Carter.”

Peggy hummed back, smiling.

By some sort of coincidence that Steve knew was no coincidence at all, the space next to Peggy was left vacant. Steve settled down silently into the chair, jaw clenched as he glared across at Natasha and Sam knowingly. Neither had any look of guilt on their face; instead, they seemed to be entertained by the display unfolding in front of them. Steve hadn’t said much, but he knew they were picking up the strange vibes. He’d told them, both separately and together, about Peggy. They knew exactly who she was and what she’d meant to him.

After the first hand was dealt, Steve finally decided to join the conversation instead of stewing in his thoughts. “So, I heard you had an interesting Christmas Eve,” he said to Peggy, in hopefully a casual tone.

But Peggy grimaced, as if she found the topic unsavory. “Yes, believe it or not, the robbery appears to be the least exciting thing to have happened to me lately.”

“Robbery?” Sam asked in a surprised tone.

Peggy’s jaw clenched, and Steve could tell it was a topic she didn’t want to address at length. Steve felt instantly bad for bringing it up, but then Peggy smiled in that charming way of hers, and dove into the story without the slightest tell of hesitation to any casual viewer. Steve could pick it up, though, even while she regaled the group with the story and underplayed her hand in thwarting the robbery, claiming the local news was just creating a sensation over a small scuffle. Steve had seen the footage, though. It had been impressive.

Howard wasn’t buying it, either. “Don’t let Peggy’s false modesty fool you. She was hell on high heels—" he grunted when Peggy elbowed him in the stomach. Undaunted, he continued, “And she got a promotion at work, too.”

Peggy sighed like she was counting to ten to stop herself from striking another jab at Howard. “Yes, partnership track. They offered it to me yesterday, actually. Happy Christmas, indeed.”

“God, Peg,” Steve said, genuinely happy for her. He knew how much that must have meant to her. “That’s great. You’ve always wanted that.”

Peggy briefly connected with Steve’s eyes before quickly glancing away. “It has been a long pursuit of mine.”

Steve could hear the next word dangling. “But?” he prompted.

“But,” Peggy said, taking a deep breath. “I guess I’m seeing things from a different perspective today than I would have before.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Howard asked, incredulous. “You’ve been chasing after that partnership for years.”

“Like I said, Howard, things have changed recently.”

There was a story behind that. Steve would bet money on it.

Speaking of betting, the first three hands, Peggy won handedly, cleaning half Bucky’s pile with a bold bluff and a pair of eights on the last hand. It was a good way of endearing herself to Sam, who took a gleeful amount of joy anytime Bucky lost money. 

Another round of beers in, Natasha was pressing Peggy for details about Steve in college. “Was he always such a fuddy-duddy?”

“Not precisely sure what the definition of those words are,” Peggy said, smiling ruefully.

“You know,” Natasha answered with a smirk, “overthinking things, keeping silent when he should really speak up more.”

Steve wanted to ignore the pointed jab, but he couldn’t. “There’s nothing wrong with _thinking_ , Nat.” 

Peggy spared another sideways glance at him, assessing. She kept doing that, but Steve was guilty of the same, maybe even at twice the rate. “In fairness to Steve, he and I suffer that same malaise, so I’m probably not the best person to comment on that trait.”

Before anyone else could say anything, Howard’s attention split to the bar again, where Maria appeared to be grabbing her purse and getting ready to leave. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I think I’ll take my leave.”

“Never gonna happen,” Bucky told him, ruefully, not even glancing up. “She isn’t the type, trust me.”

“Oh, let him,” Peggy said generously, clearly surprising Howard, and even Steve a little. “Maybe he’ll have a stroke of luck and find someone that’ll put up with his ridiculous antics, for once.”

Howard tipped a pretend cowboy hat towards her before quickly leaving the table. He caught up with Maria at the door, flashing another one of those standard Stark smiles, but Steve had already turned his attention back to Peggy. She had on another indecipherable smile on her lips, like she was privy to some knowledge that no one else at the table had. He was so caught up in it that when she turned, returning his gaze, Steve was caught red-handed in an open stare.

“You know what?” Bucky spoke up, suddenly, and faked the fakest yawn Steve had ever seen in his life. “It’s actually getting a little late.”

Steve glanced at the clock, confused. It wasn’t remotely—

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “I have to get up early tomorrow. Nat, can I get a ride?”

Natasha nodded, already lifting to her feet. All three of them stood, making excuses and overruling objections at the table, in perfect unison with each other. Steve knew exactly what they were doing. It was shamefully obvious, and he felt himself flushing a little in embarrassment because he knew Peggy probably picked up on it as well. He could see the small indulgent press of her lips, repressing a laugh.

“Sorry,” Steve offered sheepishly, in their wake after everyone had left. “They’re like children. Can’t take 'em anywhere.”

Peggy nodded, amused. But once they were left to themselves, Steve leaned back in his chair and realized he was in serious trouble. He needed to pull himself together and get through this night without making a fool out of himself. Peggy Carter reappearing in his life after so long was a rather the stuff of fantasies, but this was reality, and he had no idea what it meant. He was fairly sure it meant nothing, despite any faint hopes fluttering. Maybe this was her closing a chapter in her book? Getting that closure they never quite reached when they’d ended things with half a world between them. They deserved that, at least. Although it was painful to admit, he doubted that this was anything more than an unexpected bump in the road for Peggy. 

He’d go back to the Army, she to her life as a fast-paced lawyer, and that would undoubtably be the end of it.

In the meantime, though, he could get through this night. 

It was Peggy, after all.

“You want another drink?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, I’m fairly sure I shouldn’t be drinking too much more unless I want my choices for tonight to become—” she stopped herself, and Steve didn’t think he was imagining it that her cheeks were blushing. “I think I’ll stick to coffee from now on, or hot chocolate.”

He smiled. He remembered her fondness for hot chocolate. “Well, I don’t know about coffee this late at night, but there’s a place around the corner from my apartment that serves a mean cup of hot chocolate. I go there all the time. It’s a bit of a walk from here, but we can take a cab—”

“A walk sounds lovely,” Peggy cut in.

“Good. Uh, shall we?”

Peggy nodded, and they stood. Peggy turned to grab her coat, and it was unthinking, entirely by instinct, that he reached over to help slid it over her shoulders. The warmth from the contact was an instant buzz, and Steve had to pull back and flex his fingers tightly into a fist to fight off the sensation. She glanced over her shoulder, smiled, and thanked him. As he walked away, he was vividly reminded of their past when he’d performed that simple task for her over and over again throughout the years. 

There were so many big and small things that haunted him about Peggy, he never knew when something like that would wash over him, but this one had been visceral because Peggy was right _there._ People always said that when you met the right person, you just knew. And Steve had always known, hadn’t he? He had been in love with Peggy since he’d first met her, and it didn’t seem to matter that it had been nearly a decade since he’d last seen her. That profound connection was always there for him.

But he was entirely sure that Peggy didn’t feel the same. She had been the one to break them up, after all. It had been seven years since they’d last seen each other, and not once had she reached out to him. He was fairy secure in the idea that she didn’t think about him the same way that he did about her. _The one that got away._

He paid for the tab, despite Peggy’s protest, and they left together, walking side-by-side along the cold, cracked sidewalks. Along the way, he asked her about work, which she elaborated on with a few anecdotes and colorful stories about her colleagues, some of whom Steve wanted to punch in the face because of sexist attitudes. They talked briefly about Peggy’s nieces and nephews a little, and Peggy mentioned her oldest niece was attending their Alma Mater in a pre-law major. He remembered everything so clearly about Michael that he couldn’t bring himself to press too hard for details. All he thought about, though, was how devastated Peggy had been when her brother had passed away; for much the same reason, he expected, Peggy didn’t press too hard when he mentioned how he’d visited his own mother’s grave the other day. It had been six years, and Steve still felt the keen loss of his mother like it had happened yesterday.

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” Peggy offered, voice soft. “Sarah was a wonderful woman. The type made to be grandmother.”

He laughed a little, to himself mostly. “Yeah, she was. Unfortunately, I never did get around to giving her those grandkids.” He shook off the thought forcefully. “What about your mom? How’s she doing?”

Peggy’s face closed off quickly, but she managed a tight smile. “Deborah is as charming as ever.”

He could pick up on a lot with that statement. “Still critical, huh?”

She took a breath, color blooming on her face. “I’ve learned, through perhaps a unique form of trial-and-error, that distance should be a healthy solution between us. I could spend my life trying to live up to her expectations, but I will never reach them.” 

Steve winced, but nodded in understanding. Clearly her relationship with her mother was as fraught as ever. He had never met a more demanding person than Deborah Carter, and he doubted he ever would. It was sad, but probably for the best, that Peggy kept her distance. It had taken Steve a very short period of time to see her mother’s toxic hold and how it drove Peggy mad. It was horrible that Deborah hadn’t changed, but unsurprising. People like that very rarely changed their lifelong ways.

“I’m sorry if I brought up a sour subject earlier with the group,” he offered, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. “About the robbery. I didn’t realize it was something you didn’t want to dwell on.”

Peggy shook her head. “Don’t be. I’m not traumatized about it, or anything. Quite the opposite. It’s led me to a perspective on life that I hadn’t thought I’d ever see eye-to-eye with.” She paused. “It’s made me rethink a lot of things, actually.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“A fresh perspective is always a good thing, yes. But in this case, it was more than just good. It was necessary.” She paused, as if catching herself in a spell, and shook her head to refocus. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re here among us civilians now. Surely that’s a different perspective than you’re used to.”

He smiled. "I don't know," Steve said, slowly. It wasn't the first time he had thought about that particular line of thinking, or how it would be to become a civilian permanently. He wasn't any closer to an answer than he had been in years. "Aside from a few messy operations here and there," he said, "I'm pretty good at my job. But I'm finding that I don't like having a body count on my conscience, and that’s a number that can only go up the longer I stay in the military. I’m not sure how much longer I could take it.” 

What number was too high? Steve grimaced just thinking about it, but he knew he’d hit it someday, that imaginary number that would be his wall, the dark line in the sand that would send him packing. That, or he’d get himself killed first.

He stopped, realizing he’d ventured into heavy territory without even meaning to, but Peggy didn’t look thrown by the confession. She knew, as well as anybody could, what his job could entail. He normally didn’t bring up the subject of quitting the military, but he’d found himself using her as a confidant without even thinking about it, just like old times.

“You’re not quitting, though,” she said, quietly.

She didn't sound judgmental, for which he was grateful, and it wasn’t like anyone would consider him a coward if he resigned at this point. He’d been in this game longer than most, and probably seen more bloodshed than most, too. That type of thing changed a man, and as much as it was harrowing, Steve was starting to feel numb by it, too. He didn’t want to become jaded like that. He’d seen men go down that road, and it always ended messy and alone.

Steve shook his head, indecisive. "I have no idea," he admitted to her, surprising himself by being honest. "I don't know what else I'd do if I didn't do this."

They continued to talk, and walk, and Steve fell into a rhythm without even realizing it. A switch to a safer topic was in order, so they started talking about something else Steve had seen on the news. This led to rather spirited discussion about the next presidential election around the corner; both of them were staunch liberals, but the prospects of a good candidate seemed like a fairytale. It wasn’t until they had hit the corner where the restaurant was, and Steve was pulling open the door while arguing over the relative merits of one candidate in particular, that he realized over forty minutes had passed in the blink of an eye on their walk.

He’d forgotten how easy it was to talk to her, how effortless. He’d spent date after date these last few years, always scrambling to find some mutual topic of interests with the person sitting across from him. Steve had never been the most comfortable in his skin, especially when it came to dating, but there was something about how easy it was to fall into a conversation with Peggy that reminded him maybe it wasn’t supposed to be that hard.

They took a corner booth, and the waitress greeted them with a big grin and a clear Brooklyn accent. “Evening!” she said, enthusiastically, and her nametag identified herself as _Angie._ “My, aren’t you two a cute couple.”

Steve stilled. Angie had a pleasant smile plastered on her face, which was rather remarkable because across from him, Peggy was giving their waitress one of the dirtiest glares ever. He didn’t think it was that offensive for their waitress to presume they were a couple, but Peggy’s look radiated exasperation.

“We’ll have two cups of hot chocolate, please,” Peggy said, crisply. 

Angie seemed undaunted by the cold front, beaming even brighter. “Two hot chocolates coming right up, English! Oh, and I’ll throw in a slice of our pumpkin pie, too, on the house. I’m telling you, it’s pure—”

“Pure heaven?” Peggy cut in, tipping an eyebrow up. 

“Yeah, how’d you know?” Angie replied, with a grin.

“Must’ve heard it somewhere before.”

Steve felt like he was missing something, a key to some secret conversation that the women were having, because he swore that they were communicating something to each other with their expressive faces. Steve just had no clue what.

After the waitress left, Peggy released a long breath, as if in relief. 

“Something wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head, and only offered, “Like I said, strange couple of days and it seems to be continuing.”

She sat back in her booth, appearing to move onto another point of focus. Mainly, him. It wasn’t unusual for the night. He’d noticed he’d been the center of her attention from the moment they’d locked eyes with each other. It was reciprocal, of course. But it was, equally, just a little bit unnerving, because he genuinely had no idea what she was thinking. Was she studying him? Was she cataloging and analyzing all the ways he’d changed? Was she mentally undressing him with her eyes? He was mostly positive it wasn’t the last one, mainly because Peggy had never been particularly subtle when she’d been eyeing him with any suggestive looks. She’d never _had_ to be subtle, though. He’d always been more than receptive to those looks, but things… things were different between them now. Or so he wondered.

She surprised him when she finally opened her mouth and settled on, "Are you happy, Steve?"

It was a hell of a question. He had no idea how to answer it. He didn’t even know a cursory way to define happiness in his life, other than the fact that he had his duties as a soldier that he felt he fulfilled with a modicum of decency and proficiency. 

“Are you?” he returned, simply because it saved him from answering.

Yet again, to his surprise, she answered with a clear well-thought answer. “I thought so, until the other night. Now I’ve come to the stark realization that the things I had vested myself into, the ideals and aspirations I had so doggedly chased after, weren’t things that were bringing me happiness. Not true happiness, anyway.”

“Yeah?” Steve offered, settling back in his seat. “What do you think would bring you true happiness, then?”

And she stared at him, with such a piercing and sharp look that Steve felt his chest constrict at the heat. It wasn’t his imagination, was it? That she was looking at him with meaning in her eyes? That wasn’t just his wishful thinking and his desires projecting onto her?

“Two cups of hot chocolate,” Angie announced brightly, interrupting the moment. “And a slice of pumpkin pie, two forks. I figured you could share.”

Steve wanted to utter a _thank you_ before Angie pivoted sharply on her heels, always one to be considerate, but suddenly he couldn’t find his voice. He wanted that charged moment with Peggy back, just to examine it further and make sure it wasn’t a mirage. Because she had looked at him like she _used_ to look at him, like she wanted him with her, wanted the warmth of him at her back at night, against his chest like they did when they used to fall asleep together. He had missed the feeling too, now so used to waking up in the mornings and finding her absence instead. 

Impulsively, he wanted to confess that to her. That he had missed her, that he hadn’t stopped thinking about her throughout the years, caught up in a referendum of all the ways he could have fought for her, made her see they were meant for each other. Bucky had always teased him about his failure to move on; Natasha had always tried to set him up on blind dates, trying to find that perfect woman that would catch his eye; Sam had always asked him what would make him happy. The answers all invariably led back to one single answer. Steve didn’t want to move on; he didn’t want to settle for something less than what he’d had; he would want and had always wanted, in a single word, _Peggy._

There was a long pause, and he was ready to say those words, repercussions be damned. 

Of course, as soon as he opened his mouth, the lights in the restaurant flickered briefly before plunging into darkness. There was a spattering of gasps nearby, but Steve recognized the rolling blackouts. It had been happening on and off all week in this neighborhood.

Angie shortly returned, announcing to the room at large that the place had no idea when the power would be returning for the night. “You don’t have to go home,” she proclaimed cheekily, “but you can’t stay here anymore.”

Steve couldn't believe his luck. It was maybe for the best, not confessing. But now the night had been cut short, and he found himself scrambling for a way to make the most of whatever time he had left with her. 

But the fact of the matter was, he didn’t want that time to end.

Steve offered a timid smile. "So, not that it’s as good as this place," he said, tentatively. "But I’ve got the ingredients for hot chocolate at my apartment, I’m almost sure."

Peggy tipped an eyebrow up, holding his gaze for an extra beat. “How sure?”

“Seventy, maybe seventy-five percent?”

“Oh, well, those are good enough odds for me,” she said with a smile.

Steve exhaled hard, trying to keep his expectations low as they both stood. Peggy left cash on the table as they gathered their things and bundled up in layers again. Once they were outside, the bracing bitter wind was picking up, and Steve offered his arm to her. It seemed bold to offer, but given she’d been receptive to everything else tonight, he had decided to test his limits a little. It paid off. He held his breath as she smiled back, easily sliding her fingers around the crook of his arm.

They walked over to his apartment complex, mostly in silence. It wasn’t far. In the elevator up to his apartment, Steve found himself examining the attractive picture the two of them made in the mirrored doors, and the ride up seemed interminable. When they finally made it into the apartment, he let her in first, briefly self-conscious of all the half-opened boxes still littering the floor. It wasn’t messy, exactly. He kept a clean place. But he suddenly felt like he was looking at it through Peggy’s eyes, and found everything depressing looking.

He took her coat and hung it in the closet and turned back to find Peggy curiously wandering down the living room in the half-dim light. The cut of her figure in the silhouette of light was enough to make his breath catch in his throat, and for a moment he wondered what the hell he was doing. With Peggy, after all these years, in his apartment alone at night. He knew where it could lead. He knew exactly where he _wanted_ it to lead, but at the same time he couldn’t quite suppress the feeling that this was all happening a little too well, a little too fast. He felt like he was missing a significant piece of the puzzle, and he wasn’t sure he could trust the picture until he found it.

“I’ll, uh,” he said, his nerves returning. He waved a hand towards the modest kitchen off to the side. “I’ll go get the mugs.” 

The kitchen had a cut-away wall that looked out into the living room, so he could see Peggy glance inquisitively around the place as he assembled the quick ingredients for hot chocolate. He was just finishing up heating the milk, pouring it into two giant mugs with the Dodger's logo on it, when he looked up to see Peggy frozen before his fireplace. He abandoned the mugs, coming around to see what was so interesting, and when he finally came close enough he realized what she was looking at. His compass, which he’d left out on the mantle the day before. The lid was closed, but he could tell by the look on Peggy’s face that she had an inkling of what was inside. Back when they’d dated, she knew that he’d kept her picture there. 

He didn’t know how to explain to her that he _still_ kept her picture there, his most prized personal possession into any mission. It wasn’t that he was ashamed. Rather, the opposite. The compass represented everything he couldn’t put into words, not after seven years. It would be perhaps too much, for her. It was one thing to rekindle an old romance. It was another to have never let it go. He knew the other guys on his unit never understood why he could be so hung up on an ex that he’d still carry her picture around years after she’d left him. He never bothered to explain himself to others, but he felt he may have owed Peggy an explanation.

He just didn’t know where to start.

“May I?” she asked, softly.

He flushed and looked down, then forced himself to meet her gaze evenly and nod. Slowly, she reached over and took the compass into both hands, cradled between her palms. The item had seen better days, battered and scratched all to hell from years of abuse. Nevertheless, it still functioned, and when Peggy lifted open the lid, the needle spun in circles before stopping in the north direction, pointed just to the left of Peggy’s worn picture on top.

“Why?” she asked, in the faintest voice.

He tried to find his words. But it was difficult with what she was holding in her hands. Proof. He couldn’t deny anything, not when it was staring her in the face.

“I don’t,” Steve began. Then took a breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he decided to just be blunt. “I missed you.”

His mouth screwed up, because he had better words than that, probably. Steve would later ask himself what those words would have been, exactly, but the moment was transient. Because Peggy rose up on her toes to halt Steve’s explanation, and kissed him. He startled, and her hand slid gently across his chest, resting atop the beat of his thudding heart. The tip of her nose brushed against his own. He stood as she pressed her lips down against his, and he wondered if he was imagining this moment, like a scent caught on a breeze, there and gone, nothing but a memory of past kisses caught between them.

But then he closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the kiss and pushing away all the other thoughts that should have demanded attention. Her touch was tentative at first, and he let her set the pace, matching each movement of her lips but not advancing passed it. Searching and careful, like both of them were worried about pushing too hard and too fast. Desperation had him both holding back and clutching onto her at the same time, a hand dropping to her waist, his other flying up to card through her hair.

 _“Peg,”_ Steve breathed shakily. 

And then Peggy’s mouth opened with a soft moan, taking the kiss deeper, raw with desire and brazen at the same time. It made him dizzy. She murmured his name with a sigh, and he was swallowing her moans in a steady rhythm, one kiss melting into the next. Then she was making her way down his face in a series of nips and kisses that started at his mouth and traveled the canvas of his throat and along his jaw. He groaned when she rose onto her toes, Peggy’s hand running through his hair. He marveled at the length of her pressing eagerly against him, at the way she fit perfectly pressed chest-to-chest, at how he kept her locked within the circle of his arms. 

He tried to keep the kisses undemanding, to let it be about familiarity and love and not just about desire or need, but Peggy bit sharply at his bottom lip and he groaned, pulse pounding, and let the ache of the last seven years take over. They kissed like that for an endless amount of time, long enough for both of them to lose their breaths.

“Steve,” she murmured against his lips, panting. _“Darling.”_

He shuddered full bodied, blinking to clear his vision from the hazy flood of _want_ rushing through his veins. With a groan, he pulled away, forcing himself to release her hip. He leaned his head back, inhaling sorely needed air, even while their lower bodies were pressed heavily together. He felt her palms flat against his chest, knowing she sensed it swell and flatten with every breath.

“What—” Peggy breathed heavily, sensing his retreat. She was flushed and her lipstick was smudged at the corner of her lips. He had a feeling that his mouth had a similarly blurred appearance. “What’s wrong?”

 _Too fast_ , he thought, reigning in the reckless impulses. It had been ages since they’d seen each other, and they’d done nothing more than talk in the abstract about their lives. He didn’t know what this was for her. He only knew he didn’t want it to be casual, and he had no guarantee of that if he jumped into this without first figuring out how she’d stumbled into his life so unexpectedly. 

It was only right that he slowed down a little, to give them the chance to remember each other, to relearn about the other. 

Steve wanted to do this right.

“What brought you here tonight, Peggy?” he asked, which seemed only fair. He’d laid himself open with that compass. He wondered if Peggy would be willing to do the same. “I’ve been trying to figure that out all night.”

She huffed a small laugh. “I thought I was being fairly obvious with my intentions.”

“Peggy…”

He felt her hand still on his chest as a hint of something unreadable flickered across her face. He knew it. She was hesitating, and she only did that when she had something to hide. It may have been years, but he still knew some things about Peggy Carter like the back of his hand.

She sighed, and stepped back, breathing deeply. “Maybe I haven’t been entirely forthcoming, but it’s only because it’ll sound outlandish and insane. I don’t want you thinking I came to you because of some fever-pitched dream, because that’s not what this is.”

He blinked. “You’re going to have to start from the top for me.”

She bit her lower lip as she deliberated over something, which only served to distract Steve from a conversation he knew they needed to have; at the same time, her hair was tussled from where his hands had run through it, her cheeks were flushed with heat, and she looked so decadently flustered that he had to remind himself not to pull her back to him.

“There was—you hear about life and death moments, right?” she began. “Where your life flashes before your eyes? Snippets of everything that’s happened racing across your mind in a split second? Have you ever had something like that happen to you?”

He’d had plenty of life-and-death moments in his life, but nothing like that, so he shook his head.

“Well,” she frowned. “What happened to me wasn’t precisely like that, but it was something similar.” 

She was hesitating, and he needed her to know she could trust him. “You can tell me anything, Peg.”

She smiled at him softly, knowingly. Then she confessed, “The last clear memory I had of Christmas Eve was just before the robbery. And then… well, when I woke up yesterday morning, a lot had changed for me. It was like a clock had been reset, but I’d lived this whole other life. I saw what we could have been like together. If I hadn’t broken things off. I saw a life between us that was filled with love and affection, and a family.”

A family. 

He didn’t know what to say to that, to the idea of Peggy having a revelation or epiphany, if those were even the right words. All he knew was that a family with Peggy was all he’d ever wanted. It was what he would have pursued with her if she hadn’t broken things off.

“I want that with you, Steve,” she confessed. “I did my hardest not to think about you. For years I put you in a box to be set aside, as if I could forget. But the truth is, I never stopped loving you.”

And what could he do in response to that, but to slide his arm around her to draw her towards him? How could he resist that? The pull of her words and everything he’d wanted to hear from her all these years. He had never actually allowed himself to believe she’d say it, but there she was, vulnerable and soft, exposed entirely before him because he’d asked for the truth. He wrapped himself around her, and for a brief pause she buried her face in the crook of his neck as he held her tighter still. He felt Peggy lean back from him until their gazes met. He wanted to do this slow, wanted to do this right, but Peggy grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanking him down to her, and crashed her lips to his.

This time, it wasn’t slow. It wasn’t measured. His mouth opened under hers, pliant and eager, and a trembling breath left him as she took him over with a demanding kiss. And then he was cradling her lower lip between his, a hand cupping the nape of her neck, her skin warmer than he had expected. The outside cold a bitter reminder of time lost. But she was so _warm,_ and he was a little bit overwhelmed by the power she had over him.

She pushed him back, using her grip on his shoulders to turn him around. She guided him backwards to the sofa in the living room, and as soon as he was sitting down, she climbed on top of him. She straddled his waist, opening her mouth up to his tongue and letting him drag it over the roof of her mouth. She moaned his name against him, and Steve pulled her tight against his body, fingers digging into her hip. 

But eventually kissing just wasn’t enough, and he felt Peggy’s fingers catch and raise both his shirt and undershirt, peeling it off him in one swift lift. She immediately explored his neck with kisses, nipping and biting down the line of his chest, all pressure and wetness, making pleased noises deep in her throat at the exploration of his muscles that gratified Steve, even as his face heated up. 

His fingers kept catching on the hemline of her dress, but he didn’t dare lift it beyond where it rode up on her thighs. He could feel the expanse of soft skin under his sizable palms, and he must’ve been too obvious about his desires because she lifted slightly on her knees and whispered, “Take it off, darling.”

Heat barreled through him, but Steve froze, fingers clenching into balls around the fabric of her dress. It was quite clear where this little escapade was heading, confessions or not. "We don't have to…" he started, his voice thick and low. "I can…" he tried again, stammering. "We can stop if—"

"I don’t want to stop," Peggy said.

He fingers flexed again, vying for control. “There’s no rush.”

She sat back on her legs, pausing to stare at him with an eyebrow lifted. “Do you want to stop?”

“ _God, no_ ,” he said, perhaps too quickly. She barked a short laugh – sharp, confident, which just made her insanely more attractive. “I’m all in, Peggy. I’ve always been—” He squeezed his eyes shut. It didn’t help that Peggy was still pressed against his length, which certainly didn’t let him _think._ He could feel her palms sliding up and down his arms, her fingers stroking the natural lines of his muscles, in encouragement and comfort both, but equally distracting. He wanted her, but it was more than that. He wanted her with him, wanted the smell of her on his pillowcase, wanted the warmth of her pressed along his side during sleep. "I missed you," he told her again, not sure how to explain. “But,” he added, gripping her hips once, “that doesn’t mean I want to rush into something tonight. I don’t want you to regret anything in the morning.”

“Even after my confession? You’d think I’d have regrets?” 

“I think…” his voice was low, but he knew the edge of longing had sharpened it around the edges, “I think this feels like a thing too good to be true. I just want to make sure you want–”

“You have no idea how much I want…” she said lowly, shifting forward to nip at his lips, “to feel you inside me again.”

He groaned, an uncontrollable blast of need erupting through him, giving over to it. Her fingertips lightly trailed over his jaw, and Steve shuddered, pressing his hand between her shoulder blades, erasing any distance between them. He felt her shift against him, leaning up on her toes to suck on his tongue, and his hand slid back down to her ass, tugging her firmly against him again. He was fully aware that his well-worn dark slacks hid absolutely nothing when it came to how he was feeling about the searing turn their embrace had taken. She rocked back and forth a little, driving him into a fevered haze with the teasing. 

Now that he was certain where the boundaries were, or lack thereof, he grew bolder in his touches. Reaching further, his fingertips encountered the hemline of her dress. He tugged at it, and she assisted, shifting on top of him with more maddening friction, and he lifted and freed the material from her body. When the red dress was deposited on the floor, she sat atop him in a pair of matching crimson panties and bra looking like she'd make a runway model green with envy.

“Peg, _jesus_ ,” he stammered, brokenly. “You’re beautiful.”

She was as stunning as he remembered, maybe even more so. Soft curves and strong muscles, a pale canvas of skin. He touched her stomach, his hand seemingly massive where it splayed across her ribs, pushing upwards under the material of her bra until he was cupping her breast, thumbing her nipple. Peggy moaned, and he went back to kissing her neck again, working his way down, caresses becoming harder and more insistent; a hint of teeth and suckle left a half-formed mark on her collarbone. 

She made a little breathy noise when his hand lowered to the waistband of her panties, and his thumb slipped inside and grazed her clit; Steve almost missed it, with how loud his own pulse was in his ears, matched only by her ragged breathing.

She gasped while he slid one finger through her slit. “ _Oh. Steve_.”

He moved his thumb back and forth, getting everything wet and ready. She was already squirming when he slid a finger through the slick heat. He heard a quiet moan just from those touches, just like he remembered, just like he always took as encouragement, so he nudged her legs a little further apart and pressed in harder, a finger slipping in while his thumb found her clit again. The change in her was immediate, because the quiet moans became loud gasps, her slight shifting hips became demanding grinds. He carried her through it, bracing his back against the sofa as she collapsed against him. 

She whimpered, pressing herself against his neck. He couldn't help but smile against her at the noises. He kissed her pulse point, feeling her skin heating up. Slowly, teasingly, he slid his thumb up and down over her, exactly where he knew she was aching most for him. She retaliated by rolling her tongue over the ridge of his ear and he groaned softly; his fingers worked into her in encouragement as she braced herself tightly against him, sucking hard on his ear. 

A sharp fire kindled inside him, and he made a quick recalculation, tilting their axis, and Peggy let out a gasp as she found herself lying alongside him on that sofa, stretched out as he continued to thrust fingers into her. And then she came, with a beautiful long shuddering moan, muscles spasming around his fingers, tightening and then collapsing back. 

Afterwards, he wasn’t really sure who was breathing heavier – her or him. His eyes closed, needing a moment to regroup himself. “You okay?” he asked, leaning back a little to study her, his own voice hoarse with want.

She nodded slowly, looking like she needed a moment. 

He kissed her softly while she recovered. With little effort, when he felt like she had some control of her muscles again, he braced her against him and guided her legs to wrap around his waist. He lifted her easily into his arms. Her legs locked around his hips as he made the short trek to the bedroom, their mouths never leaving each other as he carried her.

When they collapsed onto the bed, he felt a bit drunk and none of that had to do with any of the alcohol he’d consumed over the night. They made quick work of removing any shred of clothing between the two of them. In one quick rush of synapses, his brain fired off one after another and he thought about the last few years and how many times he’d resisted reaching out to her; how many times he’d stopped himself from calling her and forcing her to confront what they had left behind; how many times he’d fantasized about making love to her, or – even just the little things, like how she’d looked in the morning during Sunday brunch, fingers wrapped around a mug of tea, wearing only his oversized shirt. A surge of possessiveness shot through him at the thought.

“God, I’ve missed you,” she breathed.

Steve felt himself twitch at the sound of her breathy confession. Peggy pulled him to the bed and was straddling him between one kiss and the next. She nipped along his jaw and then down his neck, her hands finding him hard, and stroking him. He released a shuddering breath, his fingers biting into her hips.

“Let me take care of you,” she said, looking at him.

Everything suddenly felt outmatched for its dimensions; him and her, with him being huge and oversized, and her so gorgeous and curvy. But when she edged up to position herself at his knees, he felt a distinct loss of control. He thought she was going to crawl over him, but instead she dropped back, kissing his abdomen, then lower, and he realized her intentions.

“You don’t,” he protested weakly, even as a thrill shot through him. “Peggy, you don’t have to—”

“I _want_ to,” she told him flatly, and the ravenous look in her eyes quelled any thought that she was just doing this to return the favor. He’d forgotten how much Peggy always seemed to enjoy herself doing this for him, because it always made him come apart at the seams. 

And that was pretty much the last thought Steve could formulate in his head because the next thing he knew, her mouth was on him, swallowing him down, alongside his ability to speak, to think, to do pretty much anything other than groan. He was more aware of her mouth, her lips and tongue, than he was of any inch of himself. She gripped him with her hands, following the journey of her mouth, then took him more fully into her mouth, and _sucked,_ hard. Steve made a heavy gruff noise, trying to find something to catch purchase on for support, eyes screwed shut, and eventually his fingers tangled in her hair as his hips fought the valiant effort not to buck against her mouth. Jesus, he was keyed up.

He tried to warn her off when he felt himself too close to the edge, but she just batted his hands away and licked up his shaft more eagerly. His hips nearly bucked off the bed. “Oh, Christ, you’re gonna kill me,” he breathed, half-protesting, half-blissed-out. “Wait, Peg – Jesus, just wait. Not like _this_. I want—”

It took him another second of protesting in guttural noises, because he couldn’t formulate a single coherent thought, and she finally relented, doing as he asked by pulling back. She wiped her mouth, looking inordinately pleased with herself, especially at him spread out on the bed; Steve had to catch his breath and calm his body down. He was so caught on the edge that he needed a moment. 

With some difficulty, he scooted off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where—” she protested, but he pressed a hard kiss to her mouth and hurried out to the bathroom where he’d stashed the unopened box of condoms. He pulled free a packet, then grabbed an extra one, just in case. 

He rolled the condom on, and approached the bed again. Without wasting anymore time, because the time for teasing had passed three exits back, he covered her body completely, arms and legs bracketing each side of her, hips cradling hers. The rest of the world blacked out, and there was nothing but Peggy below him, staring up and looking like she recognized this moment with the same sense of gravity that he did. Their eyes locked, and given the lingering slick wetness between her legs, Steve kissed her once, softly, and his mouth was still on her as he slid himself home with little resistance and a soft exhale. For a moment, he simply lay there, buried to the hilt inside her. 

He wondered if her body remembered his. It had been so long, but to Steve it felt like yesterday that he’d had her. He knew this, remembered her body almost better than his own. Swallowing heavily, he took a moment and then braced himself, pulling out and pushing back in with a shallow stroke. 

_“Oh, god,”_ Peggy moaned as he moved.

He gasped her name against her skin and set a steady pace, in and out of her. He dropped his head and sucked at her throat, and her ear was so near his mouth that he _had_ to lean forward, _had_ to tug at her earlobe with his teeth. Peggy was a dark shape underneath him, hair splayed out behind her, skin already glistening with the first salty lick of sweat. He kept his strokes steady at first, challenging, but he could feel her tense.

“Faster,” she whimpered.

He shook his head, wanting to take his time, to draw this out, to make it good for her. Peggy gave a low whimper of need, and he could tell she desperately craved more, so he put a little more force into the next thrust, causing Peggy to gasp his name forcefully and slam her eyes shut. She wrapped her legs around him more tightly, and moved against him harder in an effort to force him to increase his speed. One of his hands grabbed her hips and titled her pelvis to a different angle, and the shift in position almost shattered Peggy completely because she started moaning even louder, each thrust in pushing out a breathy noise of pleasure from her. 

But Peggy apparently had decided she was done with a slow and heavy fuck. She pushed him back at the shoulders, and Steve complied, falling to the side. He groaned as he momentarily slipped free, but then Peggy was on him almost immediately, bracing herself on top of him and drawing him back into her body. She kissed him, once, drawing his lips dirty between her teeth, and then moved. Shifted her hips with purpose, setting the pace fast and reckless almost at once. He shifted her hips for a better angle, hitting a better spot, and he felt like she was chasing something and couldn’t slow down.

The staccato sound of their breathing and the steady rhythm of their fucking rippled through him, jerking his body, and he was lost to the sensation of Peggy riding him. The slant of her hips as she worked up and down was enough to have him pressing his head back into the pillow, neck muscles cording in strain. His palms blazed a pathway up her thighs, her firm stomach, before reaching for her breasts, palming both in his hands and watching the flesh overspill into his fingers when he grasped. She moaned, and rode him harder, faster, reaching up to hold his hands in place as she worked him in and out of her. He couldn’t help but fall apart a little.

“I’m gonna—” he breathed, realizing he was too close. “We—Peg, slow down.”

She shook her head, persistent. “It’s all right, darling. I’m here. Don’t hold back.”

He groaned, but it felt too good for his body to fight for restraint. It had been too long for him, and even longer since it had been _Peggy_. It was the thought of her, the feel of her, her name forced from his lips as he started coming, gripping her hips as she rode him through it and he pushed up into her, frantically thrusting up a few more times. His release ripped through him with a hoarse grunt. His body jerked, jolted with a long peak, and then slumped heavily back against the mattress. 

For a moment, he wasn’t aware of anything. Peggy had stopped rolling her hips to give him time to recover, but her movement grew unsteady as she slipped off him. When she reached between her legs with urgent fingers, the sight made him groan. He insisted, _“I got it,"_ a little possessively, pressing a hand over her abdomen, overtaking her fingers, his thumb rubbing at her clit. She moaned, head pressing back into the mattress as she collapsed next to him, desperately chasing her own release. He kissed and nipped at her throat, his mouth working just as hard as his fingers. "C'mon, Peg," he encouraged in a hoarse whisper. "Come for me."

It didn’t take much. She came within moments with his fingers working inside her, glorious and debauched and just as stunning as he remembered.

Afterwards, he trashed his condom, and the place was a complete mess. The blankets and pillows had been pushed off the bed, and the floor was littered with various items of clothing. Somehow, her bra had ended up dangling from the ceiling fan. He ignored it all, pulling her tight against his chest, nuzzling her neck, then chuckled to himself, feeling languid and spent.

“What’s so funny?” she asked him, tipping an eyebrow up. 

“Nothing, I just…” he said, sheepishly, “this wasn’t how I expected the day to go.”

She grinned, unabashed. “Really? Because this was exactly what I had in mind.”

He reared back to stare at her, and realized she was telling the truth. She had found him with the full intentions of seducing him and ending up in his bed for the night. He shook his head, flattered, pleased, and surprised – but then again, not really surprised at all. Peggy had always been determined when she set her mind to something. He was just grateful she’d decided to find him after all these years.

It should have felt more awkward, or more new, or _something_. It should have felt like they were bridging a chasm between them, but instead he found it oddly like he was just reaching across a short distance and she was there, reaching back. 

“I love you,” he told her. “You know that, right? I never stopped.”

She smiled at him. “I know.” After a beat, she confessed, “I love you, too. And I don’t plan on letting you go this time.”

He felt, for the first time in a long time, that maybe everything would be okay. “We’ll figure this out, right? You and me, we’ll make it work?”

“We will,” Peggy promised.

They moved to kiss each other, unhurriedly, enjoying the familiar feel and taste of each other. For that blissful moment, the potential complications and obstacles in their way didn’t bother Steve in the slightest. Instead, like all their concerns had momentarily melted away, Steve and Peggy moved against each other without a thought given to the outside world. There was a sweet ache in his chest as he thought of Peggy’s – epiphany, revelation, dream – whatever one would call it. He thought of starting a family with her, and he wasn't going to take anything for granted this time. Whatever Peggy would offer, he would take. 

He was grateful that Peggy apparently felt the same about him.

They could do this, he knew.

It was fate, the two of them, and this second chance.

#

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I should probably be ashamed at how LONG that smut scene got, but honestly both Steve/Peggy deserved it after their journey in this fic. 
> 
> Also, for those concerned for Married!Steve, rest assured that Married!Peggy made it back to him in their universe, and they totally jumped each other's bones immediately in that hotel room from the third chapter. All Steves got lucky! ;)
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this fic, as it took on a life of its own! I started this for Steggy Secret Santa, and it is now mid-March! And twice what I had estimated the original length to be. It was also completely against my form, as I usually do angst, and my recipient wanted a Hallmark movie lol. I had a moment of extreme duress when I saw that, before I regrouped and remembered I always liked "The Family Man." (My other option had been "The Proposal" -- which I will _not_ be doing, lol.) Hoped you liked, lavellenchanted!


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